.^^^XRvWPRINCf^. 


^^vli^OGICALSE*^^ 


SACRED    FOUNTAIA^S: 


OR 


(DlistrbatioDs  Jllistorical  anb^racfHal 


ON    TIIK 


STREAMS,  LAKKS  AXD  FOUNTAINS 


Of    T  II  K 


HOLY    LAND, 


BY    II EV.   DAVID    WILSON, 


uF  p:in.A:ii:i,i>iii.v. 


T  ]]  I  11  D      I::  D  I  T  I  0  X 


J.\0.     T.     SllKVOCK,    r  ITTS  i;r  !lt;  1! 

WES  r E 1! \  ri: n L' s ! !  !■; :; . 
1  j.j'J. 


L'STEUtP,   ACCOKM.NG    TO    AcT   OF   ColVGRESS,  l.\   IU£  VEAR   1803, 

By  DAVID  WILSON, 

In  the  Clekk's  Oitice  ov  iue  District  Court,  for  tbe  ■VVestirm  Disteict 

OF   rENXSVLVA.MA. 


CONTENTS. 


rnEPACE,  ...  -         -         Page  5 

Ab^na — A  River, 7 

Betuesda — A  Pool,          -        -        -        -  14 

Bered— A  Well, 20 

Beersheba — A  Well,        -        -        -        -  26 

BEiULEHEii — A  Well,        -        -        -        .  32 

Besor — A  River, 42 

CiiERiTii— A  Brook,          ...        -  48 

Chebar — A  River,            -         -          -        -  bS 

Dead  Sea,            05 

Euphrates — A  River,            -          -          -  76 

Enrogel — A  Fountain,            -          -          -  88 

Fountain  of  Elisua,            .        .        .        .  07 

Fountain  of  the  Apostles,        -        -        -  104 

Fountain  of  Jezreel,            .          -         .  lOO 

Fountain  of  the  Yiruix,           -         -         -  115 

Gallilee— A  Sea,            -        -        -        -  121 


4 

contents. 

Gad — A  River, 

. 

-    Rage 

i-30 

IIarod — A  River, 

- 

- 

130 

Jacob's  Well, 

- 

- 

143 

Jordan— A  River, 

- 

- 

149 

KiDRON — A  Brook, 

- 

- 

157 

KisDON— A  River, 

- 

- 

IGI 

Kan  All — A  Brook, 

- 

- 

105 

SoREK — A  Brook, 

- 

- 

100 

The  River  Nile, 

- 

- 

174 

The  Red  Sea, 

- 

- 

17  U 

The  River  of  Life, 

- 

- 

1S7 

The  Great  Sea, 

- 

- 

193 

The  Immortal  Fountain, 

- 

203 

PREFACE. 


The  following  sketches  were  written  several  years 
ago,  in  connection  with  the  ordinary  duties  of  the 
Pastor.  They  were  prepared  solely  with  a  view  of 
publication  in  some  of  the  religious  newspapers.  Ac- 
cordingly a  few  of  these  papers  appeared  in  several 
journals  in  the  Middle  and  Southern  States.  It  was 
suggested  to  the  author,  at  the  time,  to  publish  the 
whole  series  in  book  form.  Various  reasons,  not 
necessary  to  name,  prevented  a  compliance  with 
these  kind  requests. 

In  the  meantime,  an  American  publisher  announ- 
ced a  British  work,  of  an  almost  synonymous  title, 
written  fifteen  months  after  several  of  these  articles 
were  made  public.  An  examination  of  the  book  has 
shown  that  they  are  not  at  all  similar,  and  that  the 
author  has  failed  to  do  what  I  desired  to  accomplish. 
Without  saying  aught  in  disparagement  of  Mr. 
Grosse's  volume,  it  will  be  proper  to  state  that  his 
work  is  much  more  on  the  order  of  a  narrative,  and 
contains  sketches  of  but  a  few  of  these  Pools  and 
Fountains. 


G  PREFACtJ. 

Had  we  deferred  the  prcpration  of  the  work,  we 
would'probably  have  written  it  in  a  slightly  different 
style  ;  it  might  not  have  been  prepared  more  care- 
fully and  acceptably.  We  designed  simply  to  sug- 
gest themes  for  profitable  pious  reflection.  To  the 
youth  of  our  Churches  and  Sabbath  Schools,  whose 
studies  embrace  the  field  of  Sacred  Geography  and 
History,  we  would  commend  this  volume.  The  au- 
thor is  quite  conscious  that  whatever  interest  it  may 
possess,  is  in  part  attributable  to  his  Sabbath  School 

studies  and  researches. 

D.  W. 


ABANA-A  RIVER. 


Among  the  first  if  not  the  most  important  of  those 
streams  which  claim  the  attention  of  the  Biblical 
student,  is  that  Avhose  name  is  placed  at  the  head  of 
this  page.  Issuing  from  the  base  of  JSIount  Hermon, 
or  the  beautiful  range  of  Anti-Libanus,  it  flows 
around  the  suburbs  of  Damascus,  coursing  its  way 
through  beautiful  vales,  until  its  waters  are  lost  in 
the  sands  of  the  desert,  some  four  or  five  leagues  to 
the  North  East  of  the  citj.  Known  to  the  ancient 
Greeks,  by  the  name  of  Chrysorrhoas  ;  it  has  now, 
however,  lost  its  scriptural  and  classic  designation, 
and  is  only  known  by  the  name  of  Barrady.  Like 
many  of  the  rivers  and  pools  of  Scripture  history, 
it  receives  its  distinction  from  its  historical  reminis- 
cences, and  from  the  famed  Damascus,  whose  gar- 
dens and  reservoirs  are  supplied  from  its  pure  and 
abundant  waters.  Damascus  and  Abana,  are  one 
and  inseparable.  Like  the  life  current,  which  gush- 
ing from  the  heart  to  the  extremities,  until  the  pulse 
beats  strong,  indicative  of  health  and  vigor,  prepa- 
ring us  for  active,  mental  and  physical  exertion;  so 
this  river  sending  its  limpid  and  health-sustaining 


O  ABANA. 

current  through  the  reservoirs  of  the  city,  imparts 
energy,  activity  and  importance  to  the  political  and 
commercial  interests  of  the  ancient  capital  of  Sama- 
ria. The  river  and  not  the  city  is  the  probable 
object  of  interest  and  safety,  -which  even  no^v,  indu- 
ces the  Mohammedan  Pilgrims,  to  the  number  of 
fifty  thousand,  to  congregate  from  the  northern  por- 
tions of  Asia,  preparatory  to  their  journey  to  the 
tomb  of  the  Prophet;  of  the  engrossing  trade  carried 
on  in  the  goods  and  riches  of  India,  received  through 
the  port  of  Mecca.  Damascus  thus  becomes  the 
chief  northern  depot.  This  in  fact,  is  now  the  great 
mart  of  trade,  v/hich  has  existed  from  the  earliest 
ages,  ?tnd  the  which  channel  of  communication, 
partly  overland,  and  parly  by  the  A^rabian  Gulf  and 
Red  Sea,  was  anciently  through  the  cities  of  Baby- 
lon, Palmyra,  Tyre,  Sidon,  Alexandria,  and  even 
Jerusalem.  The  source  of  health,  wealth  and  beauty, 
we  need  not  be  surprised  in  being  informed  that  the 
city  thus  bouutifully  supplied  with  water,  should 
have  continued  amid  surrounding  desolation,  a  place 
of  considerable  importance.  It  is  a  somewhat  singu- 
lar and  striking  coincidence,  that  this  city,  so  uni- 
versally famed  for  its  wealth  and  mercantile  power, 
should  be  noted  as  the  birth  place  of  the  steward  of 
Abraham,  (Gen.  15  :  2,)  so  that  the  management  and 


ABANA. 


acquisition  of  property,  appears  inseparably  associ- 
ated with  its  earliest  history,  Remarkable  for  being 
the  only  city  of  equal  antiquity,  which  sustains  to 
the  present  day,  a  high  degree  of  eminence ;  the 
Turks  and  Arabs,  from  this  circumstance,  believe  it 
to  have  been  the  original  Paradise,  and  that  it  has 
not  its  equal  ou  earth. 

Environed  and  fertilized  by  the  bright  liquid 
waters  of  the  Abana,  which  winding  amid  groves  of 
dates  and  palm,  reflects  the  bright  image  of  peerless 
Btars.  Tradition  asserts,  that  Mahomet  coming  in 
sight  of  the  city,  was  so  charmed  with  the  exceeding 
beauty  and  richness  of  the  place,  that  he  resolved 
not  to  enter  it,  fearing  he  should  be  tempted  to 
resign  the  Heavenly  Paradise  to  which  he  aspired, 
for  the  Paradise  of  earth  which  he  saw  before  him* 
The  Syrian  kingdom  of  Damascus,  is  supposed  to 
have  originated  during  the  reign  of  David.  It  con- 
tinued to  be  of  much  importance,  until  subject  to 
Tiglath — Pileser,  the  Assyrian  King,  who  took  it 
and  killed  Regin  the  King,  about  740  years  before 
Christ.  One  of  the  most  important  and  interesting 
circumstances  in  connection  with  this  beautiful  river, 
is  the  cleansing  of  Naaman,  "captain  of  the  hosts"  of 
one  of  the  kings  of  the  latter  empire.  It  appears 
that  a  little  Jewish  maid,  taken  by  gome  predatory 


XO  AHANA. 

"band  from  her  native  country,  liad  been  sold  into  the 
family  of  this  distinguished  officer.  Having  been 
instructed  as  was  the  duty  of  her  parents  (Deuter- 
onomy 28  ;  G,)  in  the  character  and  requirements 
of  the  ceremonial  law,  she  is  supposed  to  have  been 
conversant  with  its  regulations  concerning  the  plague 
of  leprosy.  Hearing  that  her  master  was  the  victim 
of  this  foul  (and  as  far  as  human  instrumentality 
was  efficient)  incurable  malady,  she  ventured  to  sug- 
gest to  her  mistress,  an  application  to  the  Prophet 
in  Samaria,  with  whose  name  and  fame  she  was  ac- 
quainted. This  intelligence,  communicated  by  her 
mistress  to  Naaman  was  made  known  to  the  king,  who 
wishing  to  preserve  the  life  of  his  faithful  General, 
Bat  him  down,  and  addressed  a  letter,  to  be  carried 
by  Naaman.  to  the  king  of  Israel.  On  a  bright 
and  beautiful  morning,  arranged  in  his  military  dress, 
and  accompanied  by  his  servants,  with  costly  pres- 
ents for  the  king,  Naaman's  chariot  rolled  through 
the  streets  to  the  gates  of  the  city,  and  drove  be- 
neath the  dripping  reservoirs,  filled  with  water  from 
the  ever-rolling  and  beautiful  Abann.  Filled  with 
thoughts,  whilst  on  his  journe}'',  of  the  courteous 
manner,  in  which  he  should  be  received,  and  his 
presents  accepted  by  the  King  of  Israel,  imagine 
his  surprise,  when,  having  read  the  letter,  the  kinj: 


ADAiNA.  11 

refused  hiin  audience,  tliinking  in  view  of  the  impos- 
sibility of  his  performing  the  cure,  that  the  whole 
affair  was  intended  as  a  pretext  for  a  quarrel.  The 
Prophet  Elisha  hearing  of  the  event,  sent  and  re- 
quested Naaman  to  come  to  him,  that  he  "might 
know  there  was  a  Prophet  in  Israel."  As  yet  un- 
humbled,  Naaman's  Chariot  rolled  to  the  door  of 
the  Prophet,  who,  without  coming  down,  directed 
him  to  "go  and  wash  in  Jordan  seven  times,"  and  he 
should  be  healed.  Incensed  at  the  suspicions  of  the 
king,  and  the  seeming  discourteous  manner  in  which 
he  had  been  treated  by  the  Prophet,  ho  became 
angry,  and  went  away,  saying,  "Behold  I  thought 
he  would  surely  come  out  to  me,  and  stand,  and  call 
on  the  name  of  the  Lord  his  God,  and  strike  his 
hand  over  the  place,  and  recover  the  leper.  Are 
not  Ahana  and  Pharpar  rivers  of  Damascus,  better 
than  all  the  wafers  of  Israel  ?  May  I  not  wash  in 
them  and  he  clean  ?" 

Alas  for  human  pride  !  Alas  for  human  prejudice  ! 
Abana  might  be  a  beautiful  river,  and  wind  round 
a  magnificent  city,  the  seat  of  wealth  and  power. 
It  migh:  pour  its  silver  current  into  a  thousand  arti- 
ficial ducts  until  filled,  its  surplus  waters  run  down 
in  a  thousand  crystal  streams,  gleaming  like  icicles 
in  the  sun,  and  yet  it  might  not  recover  the  leper. 


J  2  ABA\A. 

Jordan  was  the  stream  ;  the  appointed  means  of  res- 
toratioD)  and  declared  in  this  instance  to  be  of  more 
value,  than  "all  the  waters  of  Damascus."  The 
captain  was  finallj  prevailed  upon,  by  the  entreaty 
of  his  servant,  to  test  the  remedy,  when  according 
to  the  word  of  the  Prophet,  he  was  healed ;  carrying 
with  him  the  wholesome  instruction  of  the  seer,  he 
returned  changed  in  mind,  and  healed  in  body. 

Often,  doubtless,  after  this  important  event,  as  he 
drank  the  waters  of  Abana,  from  the  cisterns  in  the 
city;  or  drove  his  chariot  along  the  banks  of  the 
ever-gliding  river,  beneath  the  spreading  branches  of 
the  rustling  Palm,  he  would  recur  to  that  moment  of 
folly,  when  his  pride  and  inordinate  love  of  the  beau- 
tiful river  rolling  before  his  vision,  had  well  nigh 
caused  him  to  neglect  the  only  available  means  of 
restoration.  We  will  not  stop  to  describe  at  length 
the  other  important  and  Scriptural  events,  which, 
though  not  relating  to  the  river,  are  yet  connected 
with  the  city  of  Damascus.  About  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant, and  as  is  supposed  by  some,  near  the  Abana, 
is  shown  the  place  of  Saint  Paul's  vision  and  mirac- 
ulous conversion.  The  street  called  "stt-aigJit,"  yet 
exists,  (Acts,  9 ;  11,)  whilst  the  place  where  Paul 
was  restored  (Acts  9 ;  17)  to  sight,  and  was  after- 
wards let  down  (Acts  9 :  25,)  in  a  basket,  together 


ABANA.  13 

^vith  the  house  of  Judas,  "with  Avhom  St.  Paul  lodged; 
and  the  house  and  tomb  of  Annanias  are  yet  shown. 

A  medal  has  been  recently  shown,  representing 
Damascus,  on  the  upper  part  of  which  is  a  temple 
and  below  a  grotto,  in  which  a  female  figure,  holding 
in  her  right  hand  ears  of  corn,  and  in  her  left  a  cor- 
nucopia, resting  on  an  urn,  from  vfh'icli  flows  a  stream 
of  water. 

So  it  would  appear  that  Abana,  made  sacred  from 
its  association  with  Bible  history,  can  never  be  for- 
gotten. 


/ 


BETHESDA-A  POOL. 

Among  the  most  remarkable  antiquities  yet  shown 
in  Jerusalem,  and  its  neighborhood,  is  the  Pool  of 
Bethesda.  In  such  condition  as  yet  to  be  recognized 
by  modern  travellers  as  the  place  where  one  of 
Christ's  miracles  was  performed,  it  continues  to  be 
an  object  of  interest  to  the  oriental  student.  Unim- 
portant as  some  may  suppose  its  existence  to  be,  it 
-was  regarded  by  all  pious  Jews  as  a  token  of  God's 
good  will,  and  an  indication  that,  though  as  a  nation 
they  had  been  long  without  prophets,  and  miracles, 
and  had  lost  their  independence,  he  had  not  cast 
them  off.  The  history  of  this  noted  pool  is  involved 
in  considerable  obscurity.  According  to  a  conjec- 
ture of  Dr.  Lightfoot,  it  is  supposed  to  be  the  same 
with  the  upper  pool,  (Isa,  vii:  3:)  and  the  old  pool, 
mentioned,  (Isa.  xxii :  11 :)  and  which  were  used  for 
washing  from  ceremonial  pollutions.  That  which 
most  concerns  us,  however,  is  the  history  of  its  sana- 
tive properties,  which  distinguishes  it  as  a  place  of 
interest  in  Scripture  history.  Mineral  and  medici- 
nal waters,  which  contribute  so  much  in  our  own 
day  to  the  health  and  happiness  of  mankind,  viewed 
as  a  provision  of  God's  bounty,   (Rev.  xiv:  7:)  are 


BETHESDA.  J  5 

special  objects  of  thankfulness.  And  from  the 
character  of  those  "who,  for  3'ears  together,  lay 
bcn>?ath  the  shade  of  the  porticos  •\vhich  surrounded 
the  pool,  we  are  assured  it  was  an  oly'ect  of  aiTcc- 
tionatc  regard  to  the  multiti.dc  of  impotent  folk, 
■who  waited  there  continually  for  the  troubling  of  the 
waters.  Wo  may  readily  suppose,  that  its  being 
frequented  by  the  poor  and  diseased,  was  but  the 
natural  appreciation  of  its  name  and  virtue,  Bcthes- 
da,  house  of  mercy.  "What  place  so  befitting  the 
resort  of  the  poor  and  diseased?  Destitute  of  the 
means  of  support,  and  afiiicted  with  incurable  mal- 
adies, they  came  to  this  sacred  fountain,  in  depend- 
ence on  Him,  from  whom  alone,  through  tho 
instrumentality  of  these  waters,  they  hoped  for  res- 
toration. \Ye  will  not  stop  to  examine  the  unnatural 
supposition,  that  the  virtue  of  the  water  was  owing 
to  a  mineral  property,  or  had  been  communicated  by 
the  blood  of  the  sacrifices,  which  is  entirely  refuted 
by  the  scriptural  account  of  the  cures  performed 
through  its  agency.  Among  the  most  remarkable 
circumstances  in  the  history  furnished  by  St.  John, 
is  the  fact,  that  there  were  periodical  visits  made  to 
its  waters  "by  an  angel  of  the  Lord,"  after  which 
the  person  who  first  stepped  in,  was  made  whole,  of 
"whatsoever  diseases  he  had."     Showing  that  tho 


16  RETHr.SDA. 

healing  property  of  the  water  vfiis  not  natural,  but 
one  with  which  it  Avas  miraculously  endowed.  An- 
other peculiarity  is,  that  while  natural  and  artificial 
baths  are,  in  many  cases,  more  hurtful  than  useful, 
this  Avas  a  specific  in  every  malady.  The  celebrated 
traveller,  Maundrel,  observes — "  That  which  they 
now  call  the  pool  of  Bethesda,  is  about  one  hundred 
and  twenty  paces  long,  and  forty  broad,  and  at  least 
eight  deep,  but  destitute  of  water.  At  its  west  end 
are  some  old  arches,  which  were  shown  as  the  re- 
mains of  the  five  porches,  three  of  which  only 
remain."  Those  who  have  recently  visited  it,  accord 
in  the  main,  with  the  description  given  by  Mr.  Maun- 
drel. There  is  no  spot,  perhaps,  near  or  in  the  city 
of  Jerusalem,  if  we  except  Mount  Calvary,  and  the 
vale  of  Gethsemane,  possessing  more  interest. 

A  memorial  of  God's  remembrance  of  his  people, 
a  type  of  the  Messiah,  of  the  "fountain  opened" 
for  sin  and  uncleanness,  and  the  place  of  one  of  his 
most  notable  miracles,  it  is  at  once  an  object  of 
enthusiastic  regard.  Our  Bavior,  coming  up  to  the 
feast  of  the  Passover,  observed  by  his  piescient  eye, 
one  among  the  multitude  of  diseased,  who  had  an 
"infirmity  thirty  and  eight  years,"  and  being  ten- 
derly inquisitive  concerning  the  desires  of  those  who 
are  in   affliction,   he  said   to  this  peculiar  object  of 


BKTHi:SDA.  17 

charity,  "Wilt  thou  be  made  whole?  '  Upon  \vh:ch 
the  sick  man,  not  thinking  of  any  other  means  of 
restoration,  than  the  pool,  raised  his  eyes  to  the  face 
of  Jesus,  and  imploringly  exclaimed — 'SS7r,  IJiavc  no 
man  to  put  me  into  the  pool.''  No  one  is  interested 
forme;  no  friend  is  near  at  the  "troubling  of  the 
waters,"  to  aid  me  in  availing  myself  of  its  curative 
properties.  How  eloquent  that  appeal?  An  appeal 
which  the  Son  of  God,  ih.Q  friend  of  sinners,  could 
not  withstand.  Whereupon,  surrounded  by  persona 
set  to  watch  his  conduct,  yet  standing  in  the  dignified 
majesty  of  his  God-head  power,  he  exclaims,  in  a 
voice  of  mingled  majesty  and  compassion — "Rise, 
take  up  thy  bed  and  Avalk."  Immediately  feeling 
the  movings  of  new-born  energy,  he  arose  with  joy- 
ful surprise,  not  dreading  who  blamed  or  threatened 
him,  and  employed  his  restored  powers  in  the  work 
of  magnifying  the  ability  of  the  Savior. 

It  was  the  Sabbath  morn.  No  sound  was  heard 
ill  or  around  the  temple,  but  the  slow,  measuied 
tread  of  the  pilgrims  coming  up  to  the  morning 
service.  The  sun,  just  risen  o'er  the  summit  of  Olivet, 
was  pouring  the  first  flood  of  rays  on  the  burnished 
roof  of  the  temple,  until  the  atmosphere,  above  and 
around,  was  illumed  with  the  reflected  glory.  All 
nature  was  surpassingly  lovely:  and  to  the  Israelite, 


IS  Bi:  Tilt:  SI)  A. 

just  anivc<l  from  the  more  remote  portions  of  the 
goodly  land,  Jerusalem,  so  sacred  and  beautiful, 
appeared  then  his  chief  joy.  What  feelings  of  grati- 
tude must  that  Jew  have  felt,  who  in  the  midst  of 
such  glory  had  just  been  bidden  "to  walk,"  and  to 
whom  no  place  in  Jerusalem  had  any  special  interest, 
for  "thirty  and  eight  years,"  save  the  poolof  Bethesda! 
We  will  not  stop  to  notice  the  enmity  of  the  Jews, 
aroused  against  Jesus,  in  consequence  of  performing 
the  miracle ,  nor  remark  concerning  their  silly  and 
hypocritical  zeal  for  the  sanctity  of  the  Sabbath; 
nor  comment  upon  the  unreasonableness  of  objecting 
to  Christ,  at  having  relieved  the  public  of  the  poor 
man's  support.  W^e  may  observe,  however,  the 
strange  coincidence,  that  this  pool  of  mercy  should 
be  near  the  sheep  market.  May  we  not  ventue  to 
conjecture,  that  there  was  something  symbolic  in 
this?  Christ  himself,  the  true  "Lamb"  of  God, 
may  have  been  s'gnified  by  this.  He  too  was  7ica7- 
the  pool  when  the  poor  man  was  restored.  This 
pool  is  the  supposed  type  of  the  Savior  and  our 
redemption:  and  the  waters  by  which  the  pool  was 
filled,  signified  the  kingdom  of  David,  and  of  Christ, 
his  "Greater  Son,"  and  most  fitly  represents  the 
sovereign  vii'tue  of  his  blood.  (Isa.  viii :  6.)  What 
important  practical  admonitions  are  furnished  by  the 


history  of  this  miracleV  How  many  reflections  press 
upon  the  mind,  as  suitable  to  be  recorded?  "The 
power  of  miracles  succeeds  vhcn  the  power  of  nature 
succumbs."  The  angel  stirred  the  water,  but  left 
the  diseased  to  place  themselves  in  the  pool.  So 
the  same  Deity,  who  would  have  us  healed  of  our 
spiritual  maladies,  has  put  virtue  into  the  Scriptures 
and  ordinances ;  but  if  we  do  not  employ  them  at 
the  right  time,  and  in  the  right  way,  they  will  not 
avail  in  our  behalf.  If  we  earnestly  desire,  we  shall 
be  healed.  We  do  not  know  accurately,  when  this 
extraordinary  virtue  was  communicated  to  the  waters 
of  Bethesda;  or  when  it  ceased.  But  we  do  know 
that  the  fact  of  its  location  near  the  temple,  and 
the  history  of  the  miracle,  is  a  standing  monument 
to  the  memory  of  Ilim  who  is  the  "fountain  of  life;" 
the  which  fountain,  as  was  the  water  of  Bethesda, 
shall  be  ever  ellcctual  in  the  cure  of  all  spiritual 
maladies. 

9 


BERED,  OR  THE  WELL  OF  LAHAI-ROI. 

Not  far  from  the  supposed  site  of  the  ancient 
city  of  Gaza,  in  a  most  wilderness  country,  the 
traveller  is  shown  the  well  of  Lahai-roi,  or  fountain 
of  Him  that  lives  and  sees  me.  Few,  perhaps  none, 
of  the  ancient  historical  portions  of  the  Bible  pos- 
sess greater  interest  than  the  story  of  Hagar  and 
Ishmael.  Associated  with  the  venerable  character 
and  history  of  the  "Father  of  the  faithful,"  the 
narrative  of  their  singular  and  providential  banish- 
ment from  his  family,  will  stand  through  unnumbered 
ages,  a  monument  to  the  truthfulness  of  the  Mosaic 
record. 

How  often,  in  our  youthful  fancies,  have  we  wan- 
dered back  through  the  lapse  of  centuries,  to  the 
wilderness  of  Shur,  to  the  spot  where  the  infant 
Ishmael  lay;  and  seating  ourselves  on  the  crisped 
leaves  beside  him,  have  looked  on  his  sorrowful 
countenance,  Avhilst  the  silent,  involuntary  tear 
coursed  its  way  through  the  half-opened  eyelid,  and 
dropped  on  the  ground?  And  then,  as  our  heart 
beat  responsive  to  his  suppressed  breathing,  have 


BERED.  21 

felt  the  blood  congeal  in  our  veins,  as  the  -wail  of 
Hagar's  sorrow,  from  the  thicket  beyond,  sounded 
loud  and  piercing  on  the  car  ;  when  looking  above 
and  around,  we  have  pictured  in  the  hazy  atmos- 
phere, the  burnished  form  of  the  celestial  messenger, 
•who,  pointing  the  anxious  eye  of  Hagar  to  the  bub- 
bling fountain,  announced  promises  of  blessing  and 
protection ! 

To  the  contemplative  mind  there  is  much  to  inter- 
est the  feelings  and  excite  the  curiosity,  in  the 
account  furnished  of  the  rearing  and  banishment  of 
Ishmael  from  his  father's  house,  and  the  scenes  and 
associations  of  his  boyhood  pastimes.  We  all  know 
how  strong  and  indissoluble  are  the  associations  and 
ties  of  kindred,  and  with  what  tenacity  we  cling  to 
the  home  of  our  youth,  and  the  place  of  the  heart's 
best  and  purest  affections.  How  sweet,  when  retired 
to  the  old  family  mansion,  between  whose  sloping 
Avail  of  stone  clumps  of  boxwood,  bramble,  and  tufts 
of  moss  spring  up,  to  spend  hours  with  parents, 
brothers  and  sisters,  in  the  solitude  and  silence  of 
the  winter  night,  in  conversing,  without  witnesses, 
and  at  our  pleasure,  of  the  most  sweet  emotions  of 
our  own  souls !  Every  object,  whether  artificial  or 
natural,  within  sight  of  our  dwellings,  being  associa- 
ted   with   our   infant   days,   becomes    an    object    of 


22  BERED. 

interest  and  pleasure.  The  mountain  summit,  spark- 
ling in  the  distance,  on  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  or 
the  sky,  whose  warmth  and  serenity  we  have  often 
breathed,  and  whose  bright  image  Ave  have  viewed, 
as  mirrored  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  stream 
which  winds  around  through  our  home  meadows,  are 
all  sacred.  How  the  thought  of  parting  forever 
from  these  fond  scenes,  oppresses  the  heart!  and 
despite,  perhaps,  of  a  pre-conceived  determination, 
makes  us  desire  to  repose  in  death  beneath  these 
consecrated  shades !  If  it  be  hard  thus  voluntarily  to 
leave  the  place  of  our  birth,  and  to  sever  forever  the 
strongest  and  most  endearing  relationships,  how,  think 
you,  should  we  feel  if  driven  away,  and  that  too  by 
direction  of  a  father  whom  we  have  tenderly  loved, 
and  to  whom  we  look  for  counsel  and  support  ?  This 
was  Ishmael's  condition.  Not  being  the  "  child  of 
promise,"  at  the  birth  of  Isaac,  the  jealousy  and 
contention  of  the  respective  mothers,  Hagar  and 
Sarah,  grew  so  violent  as  to  pain  the  heart  of  the 
venerable  father,  and  even  to  call  for  divine  interpo- 
sition. Often,  doubtless,  until  this  ensued,  the  heart 
of  this  faithful  man  was  much  distressed  at  these 
unpleasant  altercations.  It  being  revealed  to  Abra- 
ham that  Ishmael  should  become  the  father  of  a  great 
nation ;  that  he  should  be  a  wild  man,  and  that  his 


BERKD.  2-3 

hand  should  be  against  every  man.  and  every  man's 
hand  against  him;  he  no  longer  hesitated,  but  sent 
them  away  into  the  wilderness.  This  was  a  great 
grief;  but  he  had  learned  what  God  required, 
he  would  give  strength  to  perform.  Often,  methinks, 
after  the  banishment  of  his  wife  and  son,  would 
Abraham  retire  to  his  humble  tent,  and  lay  him 
down  at  night,  with  thoughts  of  sadness ;  when 
nerving  himself  for  the  trial,  he  would  brush  away 
the  silent  tear,  and  recount  in  consolation  the  prom- 
ses;  hearing  all  the  time  the  breathings  of  the 
promised  child  and  mother,  until  growing  more  sub- 
dued and  low,  they  died  away  in  vague  and  monot- 
onous murmurs.  At  the  request  of  Sarah,  Abraham 
had  taken  the  mother  of  Ishmael  as  his  wife.  He  had 
long  wished  and  prayed  for  a  son  who  should  inherit 
his  property,  bear  his  name,  and  transmit  it  to  pos- 
terity, until  it  had  become  the  absorbing  thought 
of  his  life.  When,  therefore,  Isaac,  the  child  of 
promise,  Avas  born,  he  became  the  single  link  on 
Avhich  everything  rested,  and  in  whom  was  garnered 
all  the  love  and  hopes  of  his  noble,  faithful  heart. 
Still  he  loved  Ishmael,  and  sorrowed  at  parting 
forever  from  the  chiM  of  his  early  memories.  But 
the  command  to  banish  them  was  given ;  and  in  this 
instance,  the    faithful   performance  of  the  requirc- 

0* 


24  BERED 

ment,  and  the  perpetuation  of  domestic  tranquility, 
■was  more  important  than  to  preserve  an  unbroken 
family,  in  which  strife  only  could  exist. 

Hagar  and  Ishmael,  "on  whose  pure  spirit  young 
hopes  lay  like  morning  dew-drops,  to  whom  life  was 
fresh,  joyous  and  radiant,"  were  banished  from  that 
domestic  circle,  which,  but  for  her  insubordination, 
would  have  reflected  every  trait  of  moral  excellence 
and  beauty.  Ishmael,  though  expatriated  from  his 
father's  family,  did  not  resent  the  injury ;  but 
quietly  relinquishing  home  and  wealth  to  Isaac, 
united  with  him,  at  their  father's  death,  in  perform- 
ing the  rights  of  sepulture.  This  shows,  though  a 
wild  man,  and  the  father  of  the  ever  unconquerable 
Arab,  we  have  no  authority  for  saying  a  father's 
prayers  and  instructions  were  lost  upon  him. 

Many  reflections  occur  on  this  interesting  story. 
Our  limits  will  admit  but  one  or  two.  Faith,  religion 
is  necessary  to  the  regulation  of  every  family,  to 
aid  in  making  those  sacrifices  of  feeling  ^to  duty, 
which  are  ever  occurring.  Domestic  felicity  is  par- 
amount to  every  sacrifice  made  in  its  attainment. 
Happy  is  he  on  whom  is  conferred  the  blessing  of 
having  sprung  from  a  good  and  pious  family.  This 
is  the  chief  blessing  of  his  lot.  The  future  fate  of 
the  child  depends  upon  the  home  in  which  he  is  born. 


BERED.  25 

Our  mother's  look  is  a  portion  of  the  soul,  -vvhicli  is 
nourished,  and  grows,  above  all,  by  the  impressions 
which  are  left  on  our  memory.  Who  among  us, 
then,  on  seeing  that  look,  even  in  a  dream,  does  not 
feel  a  something  descending  on  his  soul,  which 
soothes  its  trouble,  and  diffuses  serenity  around  it  ? 
Long  as  the  deeds  and  acts  of  Abraham  shall  be 
told,  shall  the  memory  of  the  well  Bered,  and  of 
Hagar  and  Ishmael  never  be  forgotten. 


BEEHSHEBA-A  WELL. 


On  the  southern  extremity  of  Canaan,  and  within 
the  place  marked  on  the  map,  as  apportioned  to  the 
tribe  of  Simeon,  is  shown  the  place  where  the  city 
of  Berzimnia,  or  Bessabe,  once  stood.  To  the  eye 
of  the  traveller  unlearned  in  the  sacred  history  of 
Judea,  there  is  not  much  of  interest  in  the  spot,  save 
the  somewhat  wild  and  strangely  picturesque  scene- 
ry. One,  however,  to  whom  the  quiver  of  a  leaf, 
the  rock  all  overgrown  with  moss,  or  the  trunk  of  an 
old  tree,  blackened  by  the  storms  of  ages,  furnishes 
matter  of  reflection,  will  not  be  uninterested  as  his 
footsteps  linger  around  this  consecrated  place.  If 
the  history  of  Abraham,  be  but  the  embryo  history 
of  a  nation,  wc  may  ''sojourn"  with  him,  and  in 
imagination,  let  down  our  pitchers  to  draw  from  the 
crystal  surface  of  the  tvell  of  tlic  oatli^  the  natural 
emblem  of  truth,  equity  and  mercy.  We  need  not 
to  have  been  thus  particular  in  soliciting  the  readers 
attention,  if  our  excursion  led  us  to  visit  some  sub- 
lime or  graceful  object,  such  as  a  beautiful  sheet  of 
water  dashing  down  in  cascades,  Avhilst  all  around 


BEERSHEBA.  27 

the  mountain  summit,  gleaming  in  the  last  rays  of 
lovely  sunset,  are  groped  clouds  of  unusual  shape 
and  color.  Dazzled  with  the  spray  and  foam,  we 
would  scarce  need  to  be  directed  to  take  advantage 
of  the  grandeur  and  novelty  of  the  impression  in 
aiding  us  to  raise  our  souls  to  the  author  of  all  these 
wonders  ;  and  to  place  us  in  communication  with 
Him.  And  yet,  what  object  within  the  range  of 
vision  is  better  calculated  to  raise  our  thoughts, 
than  a  fellow  mortal  in  converse  with  Jehovah. 
When  the  shadow  of  the  mountain,  stealing  o'er  the 
plain,  until  our  dwelling  be  already  wrapped  in  the 
twilight  of  the  closing  day  ;  when  all  the  wandering 
aspirations  and  feelings  of  the  day  are  turned  inward, 
and  the  thoughts  called  home  ;  the  natural  language 
of  the  heart  is  to  hold  communion  with  Him  who 
forms  our  surest  solace  and  support. 

And  yet  an  oath  is  a  prayer,  a  direct  appeal  to 
God,  before  whom,  as  knowing  our  inmost  thoughts, 
without  mental  reservation,  or  for  the  sake  of  per- 
sonal friendship  or  advantage,  or  from  fear  of  per- 
sonal inconvenience,  we  promise  to  speak  or  perform 
that  which  the  contracting  party  has  a  right  to  ex- 
pect. If  prayer  "ardent  opens  heaven"  the  ear  and 
presence  of  Deity  are  to  be  distinctly  acknowledged 
on  so  important  an  occasion.     If  truth  as  an  oath 


28  BEERSUEBA. 

for  "afiSrmation"  is  usually  an  "end  of  all  strife;" 
so  it  may  be  considered,  whenever  assumed,  that  the 
uplifted  hand,  the  kissing  of  a  Bible,  or  as  in  this 
instance,  the  naming  of  a  fountain  of  water,  is  a 
sublime  commentary  on  the  Divine  omniscience. 
Often,  as  the  firmament  rolls  out  before  our  vision, 
"with  its  myriads  of  stars,  have  we  fancied  we  could 
hear  the  responsive  aflEirmations  of  Abraham  and 
Abimelech,  echoing  in  deep  low  murmurs  above  and 
around  us,  resembling  the  regular  ebb  and  flow  of 
the  feelings  of  the  heart,  breaking  on  the  shores  of 
life,  and  sending  up  their  voice  to  the  ears  of  the 
Creator,  Such  were  the  sounds  to  which  the  plants, 
the  leaves,  the  trees  and  God  listened. 

It  is  recorded  of  the  Pagan  nations  of  antiquity, 
when  they  erected  a  new  temple  on  the  site  of  an 
old  one ;  they  were  wont  to  introduce  into  the  new 
edifice,  a  column,  if  not  all  the  materials  of  the  old 
one,  in  order  that  there  might  be  something  ancient 
and  sacred  in  the  new  building ;  and  that  even  the 
masonry,  gross  and  clumsy  as  it  was,  might  have  its 
worship  for  the  heart,  among  the  other  things  with 
which  they  deooratcd  the  house  of  their  gods. 

Without  commending  this  superstition,  or  referring 
to  human  instincts  ever  the  same,  if  possible,  would 
it  not  have  an  important  influence,  to  incase  in  some 


BEERSHEBA.  29 

conspicuous  portion  of  the  walls  of  our  modern  tem- 
ples of  justice,  a  simple  stone  from  this  well,  as  a 
memorial  of  the  fidelity,  Avith  which  Abraham  and 
Abimelech  perfoi'med  the  covenant.  When  from  the 
height  of  a  promontory,  we  see  a  vessel  glide  slowly 
in  the  shadow  of  the  shore,  we  loose  our  solicitude 
for  the  safety  of  the  mariners  ;  so  when  friends  long 
estranged,  and  tossed  on  the  billows  of  strife  and 
contention,  with  becalmed  feelings,  glide  smoothly 
along  the  shore  of  reason,  from  which  the  soft 
zephyrs  of  forbearance  and  love,  steal  softly  o'er  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  once  angered  billows,  we  hope 
that  the  danger  of  a  second  tempest  is  forever  past. 
So  calmly  and  sweetly  did  the  oath  at  the  tvaters  of 
Beersheba,  becalm  excited  feeling,  and  induce  the 
servants  of  the  respective  parties  to  confide  in  the 
security  of  this  perpetual  bond  of  harmony.  How 
strangely  associated  are  the  incidents  of  life  !  With 
what  rapidity  alternate  seasons  of  sorrow  and  joy 
succeed  each  other !  Sometimes  we  lay  down  to 
sleep,  beneath  a  sky  all  clear ;  lulled  by  the  sound 
of  the  wind  through  the  trees,  and  the  waves  on  the 
shore,  with  the  trembling  moonbeams  playing  on  our 
pallet ;  when  we  awake,  the  sky  all  smooth  and  pol- 
ished as  crystal  before,  is  overcast  with  clouds  ! 
The  sacred  proverb,  that  sorrow  may  continue  for 


30  BEERSHEBA. 

a  night,  but  joy  comoth  in  the  morning,  seemed  in 
the  history  of  Abraham,  about  to  be  reversed.  The 
calm  peace  felt  by  the  christian,  after  having  dis- 
charged his  duty,  had  been  realized  by  this  man  of 
God,  after  the  ratification  of  the  covenant  at  the 
well  of  Beersheba ;  and  he  might  now,  judging  from  . 
the  calm  of  his  once  agitated  bosom,  have  anticipa- 
ted a  season  of  repose.  As  in  the  natural,  so  in  the 
moral  world ;  the  storm  always  succeeds  the  calm, 
arising  in  this  instance  with  redoubled  fury.  While 
he  sojourned  at  this  well,  he  was  commanded  to  take 
his  only  son  to  the  land  of  Moriah,  and  offer  him  for 
a  burnt  sacrifice.  The  Patriarch's  fear  had  come 
upon  him  ;  and  he  turned  to  his  tent  with  an  unusu- 
ally dark  cloud  on  his  soul.  Each  successive  morn- 
ing after,  his  tent  disappeared  in  the  distance,  until 
the  last  object  visible,  "all  broke  clear  and  beautiful, 
inviting  him  to  stay  his  progress,"  and  not  attempt 
obedience  to  that  which  might  have  been  esteemed  a 
rash  command.  He  who  could  make  and  keep  his 
covenant  with  man,  was  not  the  one  to  lose  confi- 
dence in  the  covenant  and  oath  of  Jehovah.  In 
leaving  the  idolatry  of  his  father's  house  and  kin- 
dred, the  resolution  was  taken,  to  keep  and  obey  the 
Divine  commands.  Faith  triumphed !  the  gold  was 
tried    and    found    pure,    tlie    son    too    was    spared. 


KKKIi.SIIKhA.  31 

When  kneeling  with  the  spared  "scion,"  in  over- 
whelming gratitude  before  the  altar  of  sacrifice,  he 
rejoiced  in  the  inviolate  oath  and  promise  of  his  God. 
Beersheba  will  exist  in  history,  as  an  illustration  of 
the  case,  with  which  the  difficulties  of  our  own  and 
our  family's  making,  may  be  settled.  Though  the 
grove  planted  by  Abraham,  and  beneath  which  cool- 
ing shade  he  worshipped,  has  long  since  disappeared, 
the  covenant,  the  offering  of  Isaac,  and  the  well  of 
Beersheba,  with  the  important  lessons  furnished  in 

their  history  will  be  perpetual. 
8 


BETHLEHEM-A  WELL. 


If  there  be  one  city  in  the  Holy  Land  more  en- 
deared to  the  heart  of  the  christian  than  any  other, 
that  place  is  Bethlehem;  situated  on  the  declivity  of 
a  hill,  six  miles  South  of  Jerusalem ;  it  is  chiefly 
honored  in  being  the  birth  place  of  Jesus. 

As  its  next  distinction,  that  which  makes  the  city 
illustrious,  is  in  being  also  the  birth  place  of  King 
David,  from  whom  the  Saviour  descended,  according 
to  the  flesh.  The  country  around,  abundant  in 
grapes,  figs  and  other  fruits,  furnishes  a  most  inter- 
esting and  delightful  prospect.  Here  the  "youthful 
shepherd"  spent  his  boyhood  days.  The  recollection 
of  whose  joys  are  so  vivid  and  touching,  amid  the 
woes  and  strugdes  of  decrepitude  and  age.  Often 
memory  calls  us  back  to  the  fields  where  we  once 
played,  where  the  waters  and  trees  sparkling  and 
waving  before  the  eye,  appear  to  reproach  us  for 
having  abandoned  what  was  so  peaceful  and  pure. 
Our  early  memories  are  the  most  tender  and  sacred. 
On  them,  when  old  age  oppresses  us  with  its  cares 
and  sorrows,  we  dwell  with  the  fondest  recollections. 
:;?  when  looking  into  that  newly  invented  optical  in- 


BKTHLEHt':M.  33 

strument,  every  backward  turn  of  the  kaliedescope 
of  life,  presents  objects  of  more  new  and  singular 
attraction,  until  brought  back  to  our  most  infant  joys 
and  recollections.  When  we  turn  our  contempla- 
tions to  the  history  of  others,  we  are  still  presented 
with  objects  of  pleasing  admonition.  Such  is  espe- 
cially the  case  in  the  study  of  scripture  history. 
Here  history  is  not  a  mere  register  of  facts,  such  as 
are  commonly  those  of  eminent  men,  but  selections 
of  facts,  suitableness  for  purposes  of  instruction  hav- 
ing regulated  the  choice.  Most  frequently,  those 
are  selected,  which  symbolically  represent  something 
connected  with  the  scheme  of  redemption ;  on  which 
account  it  has  found  a  place  in  the  sacred  volume. 
It  is  not  unusual  for  the  recorded  fact  to  answer  both 
these  descriptions ;  being  instructive  in  itself,  and 
serving  also  as  an  emblem  of  truths,  which  were  then 
taught  only  by  shadows  and  types.  In  the  study  of 
our  own,  and  the  characters  presented  in  sacred  his- 
tory, we  ought  to  be  careful  that  we  content  not  our- 
selves with  apprehending  the  facts,  but  study  dili- 
gently what  leasons  they  convey.  Thus,  like  dew- 
drops  hanging  on  the  petal  of  a  flower,  which  are 
supposed  as  a  focus,  in  which  every  ray  of  the  sun 
is  converged,  and  every  tint  of  color  reflected  ;  the 
record  of  spiritual  truth    will   furnish  material  for 


34  BETHLEHEM. 

instruction,  which  ivill  give  histories  the  nature  of 
homilies,  and  show  us  in  the  events  of  an  individual's 
life,  prophetic  things,  in  which  the  whole  world  ha;s 
interest.  Such  is  the  character  of  an  event  which 
forms  the  basis  of  our  observations,  and  associated 
with  the  illustrious  names  and  character  of  the 
"Shepherd  King,"  has  made  memorable  and  sacred 
the  well  of  Bethlehem.  On  the  west  side,  and  but 
little  distant  from  the  modern  village  of  Bethlehem, 
is  shown  the  well  of  David,  so  called  from  being  sup- 
posed to  be  that,  whose  waters  he  so  passionately 
desired,  (2  Sam.  23 :  15.) 

David  was  a  man  of  war  from  his  youth.  Reared 
in  the  capacity  of  a  shepherd,  and  reclining  with  his 
flocks  beneath  a  sky  ever  beautiful,  on  the  sloping 
hills  around  the  home  of  his  childhood  and  the  city 
of  his  fathers,  one  would  suppose  he  would  have  a 
perfect  loathing  for  the  scenes  and  associations  of  the 
camp  and  the  field.  Strangely  in  contrast  is  his 
eventful  history.  Chosen  by  God,  after  the  rejection 
of  Saul,  to  govern  the  kingdom  of  Israel,  he  was 
constrained  by  a  singular  Providence,  to  fight  both 
for  internal  and  national  supremacy.  A  man  of 
astonishing  courage,  when  brought  before  Saul,  after 
relating  in  a  simple  and  artless  manner  one  of  his 
achievements,   he  fearlessly  assured  '  "'  that   "  ^ 


MKTIFl.KHKM.  3.V 

uncircumcised  Philistine  should  be  an  one  of  them, 
seeing  he  had  defied  the  armies  of  the  living    G-od. 

From  the  whole  history,  it  would  appear  that  he 
was  not  only  the  greatest  captain  of  the  age,  but  had 
the  peculiar  faculty  of  but  few  eminent  Generals,  of 
attaching  the  hearts  of  his  followers  to  himself. 
Distinguished  by  this  kindness  of  disposition,  which 
is  the  grand  secret  in  ruling  the  hearts  of  men,  it  is 
not  at  all  surprising,  after  an  exhibition  of  such  ex- 
traordinary courage  and  daring,  when  compelled  to 
flee  the  country  on  account  of  the  cruel  jealousy  of 
Saul ;  a  number  of  men  alike  courageous  should  at- 
tach themselves  to  him,  and  resolve  to  follow  his  for- 
tunes. The  determined  patriot :  his  soul  was  ever 
disquieted,  so  long  as  the  footprints  of  the  uncircnm- 
cised  were  seen  in  the  land.  In  dependence  on  his 
faithful  band,  he  had  struirgled  long  and  repeatedly, 
to  exterminate  the  enemies  alike  of  Israel  and  of 
God.  Now  fatigued  and  probably  overcome  with 
heat,  he  was  compelled  to  lay  him  down  on  the  par- 
ched ground,  with  the  host  of  the  Philistines  in  vie^v, 
between  him  and  his  native  city  ;  reposing  in  fiend- 
IbIi  triumph  on  the  fields  of  his  boyhood  pastimes. 

What  a  theme  for  the  poet  I     What  a.  scene  for  the 

painter  !     Every  one  is  fi miliar  with  th?  story  of 

the  great  English  warrior,  who  mortally  wounded. 
8* 


36  BETHLEHEM, 

anrl  parcled  with  the  death  thii'st,  received  a  cup  of 
■water,  but  observing  as  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  the 
eye  of  a  dying  soldier  rest  wishfully  upon  it,  handed 
it  to  him  and  bade  him  drink  it,  as  needing  it  yet 
more  than  himself.  But  this  is  anticipating.  We 
remark,  this  story  is  one  of  these  narratives  in  sacred 
history,  which  are  ever  likely  to  be  read  and  admired, 
not  po  much  for  the  value  of  the  lessons,  as  for  the 
beauty  of  the  facts.  How  strong  its  hold  on  the 
imagination  !  having  about  it  that  air  of  chivalry  and 
romance,  which  so  captivates  and  dazzles  the  fancy. 
It  is  just  such  a  story  which  we  can  hardly  read,  and 
i\ot  have  before  us  all  the  scenery  of  the  tented  field, 
with  the  m-iiled  champions,  and  the  floating  banners. 
In  imagination,  we  picture  before  us,  the  royal  war- 
rior, David  ;  who  having  been  in  the  thick  of  the 
struggle  with  the  foe,  is  now  faint  with  thirst,  and 
lies  exhausted  in  the  midst  of  his  champions.  In 
this,  his  extremity  and  languor,  he  is  heard  to 
breathe  a  passionate  wish  for  water  from  the  well  of 
Bethlehem,  between  which  and  himself  lay  the  Phil- 
istine army.  Singular  indeed,  that  such  a  wish 
should  have  then  found  utterance.  True,  there  were 
men  all  round  attached  as  intrepid,  and  capable  of 
attempting  impossibilities  at  his  bidding.  But  the 
complying  with  such  a  wish  would  be  like  rushing  on 


BETHLEHEM.  37 

to  destruction.  What  can  courage  and  strength 
avail  against  a  multitude.  And  then  should  they 
succeed  in  forcing  a  passage  to  the  "well,  exhausted 
and  overborne,  they  will  never  be  able  to  return. 
However,  acting  upon  the  spirit  of  the  adage  "where 
there  is  a  will  there  is  a  way,"  and  hearing  the  wish 
though  not  given  in  the  spirit  of  a  command,  three 
of  his  most  intrepid  warriors,  in  dependence  on  Di- 
vine aid,  and  without  pausing  to  count  the  peril, 
rushed  against  the  foe,  resolved  to  force  a  passage. 
There  they  go  !  You  can  trace  their  course  by  the 
stir,  the  tumult  and  the  crash  ;  the  enemy  fall  in 
heaps  before  and  around  them  until  they  leach  the 
well,  when,  without  waiting  to  quench  their  thirst, 
they  dip  their  helmet  'neath  the  mirrored  surface  of 
the  water,  and  return  again  to  a  renewal  of  the  con- 
flict. Arduous  and  severe  was  the  struggle  to  save 
and  advance  with  the  priceless  contents  of  that  war- 
riors cup;  but  the  long  loud  shout  of  the  troops,  fal- 
ling like  the  lulling  cadence  of  the  harp  upon  the 
anxious  ear  of  David,  announces  the  safe  return  of 
his  undaunted  warriors.  Excite<l,  faint  and  weary, 
he  holds  the  helmet  in  his  hand,  and  as  his  thirsty 
lips  are  pressed  to  the  edge  of  the  cup,  his  eye  grows 
sad  and  wild  ;  the  color  leaves  his  cheek  ;  when  turn- 
ing hi^  head  away,  he  pours  the  water  on  the  ground 


38  BETHLEHEM. 

and  exclaims  ;  '''■shall  I  drink  the  blood  of  these  men 
that  put  their  lives  in  jeopardy^  for  with  jeopardy 
of  their  lives  they  brought  it.'" 

What  a  multitude  of  observations,  suggestive,  press 
themselves  upon  our  attention  I  Gladly  would  we 
in  fancy,  linger  around  this  consecrated  spot ;  and 
whilst  surveying  David  and  his  host,  record  such  les- 
sons of  instruction  and  wisdom,  as  are  furnished  by 
the  scene.  It  is  not  the  heroism  of  David  in  acting 
thus,  which  we  propose  for  your  imitation,  or  to 
which  we  intend  inviting  your  attention.  This,  of 
itself,  however,  would  furnish  as  fine  a  picture  of 
forbearance  and  greatness  as  human  story  can  give. 
We  would  rather  request  you  to  contemplate  and 
pattern  after  the  principle  of  kindness  so  forcibly 
exhibited  in  this  occurrence.  Not  only  of  kindness 
between  the  governor  and  the  governed,  but  in  all 
the  relations  of  social  and  domestic  life.  Kindness 
between  parents  and  children,  husbands  and  wives, 
masters  and  servants,  is  the  grand  secret  of  govern- 
ment and  the  source  of  happiness.  What  an  exam- 
ple is  here  set  by  these  warriors  to  every  man  who  is 
called  for  obedience,  whether  to  man  as  subordinate, 
or  God  as  Supreme.  Whether  we  engage  in  the  ser- 
vice of  man  or  of  Deity,  who  \«iould  not  do  well,  first 
to    stop    and    ponder    their    example,  and    consif^ler 


BETHLEHEM.  39 

whether  he  is  not  yet  far  below  such  a  model. 
He  who  consults  wishes  as  well  as  commands,  will 
feel  his  whole  aim  to  be,  to  "act  for  the  employer  as 
the  employer  would  act  for  himself;"  so  that  a  des- 
cription of  their  conduct,  like  that  of  the  servants  of 
David,  will  include  singleness  of  purpose,  diligence 
and  faithfulness.  Whether  those  warriors,  prompted 
by  the  royal  wish,  were  justified  in  running  such  a  risk 
of  life,  we  cannot  now  determine.  "There  was  certain- 
ly a  point  at  which  obedience  to  God,  would  have 
forbidden  obedience  to  their  King ;  but  we  have  no 
means  of  judging,  whether  in  this  case  this  had  been 
reached.  Be  it  right  or  wrong,  the  path  was  cut 
through  the  host  of  the  Philistines  to  the  waters  of 
Bethlehem  ;  and  that  upon  the  mere  expressed  wish 
of  David.  We  have  read  tales  of  the  devotion  of 
domestics  to  the  wishes  and  interests  of  their  masters; 
but  none  have  been  found  to  exhibit  such  strangeness 
of  devotion  and  singleness  of  purpose,  as  those  who 
bore  water  from  the  well  of  Bethlehem.  We  cannot 
commend  so  highly,  the  conduct  of  the  monarch. 
Knowing  the  devotedness  of  his  followers,  their  at- 
tachment to  his  person,  and  their  uncalculating  bra- 
very in  his  cause,  he  should  not  have  given  utterance 
to  a  wish  which  had  not  been  well  weighed ;  and 
with  which  he  did  not  desire  a  literal  compliance. 


40  BETHLEHEM. 

We  can  but  commend  Lis  conduct,  however,  after 
having  seen  the  consequence  of  giving  utterance  to 
the  natural,  though  inconsiderate  desire,  in  pouring 
the  water  upon  the  ground,  as  at  once,  an  oflfering  toi 
the  Lord,  and  a  memorial  of  his  folly.  He  could 
not  partake  of  the  fruit  of  his  own  transgression. 
'"''An  act  of  self-denial  must  he  the  punishment  for 
a  want  of  self-command."  "If  a  man  have  grown 
rich  by  dishonesty,  he  ought,  we  believe,  to  become 
poor  through  repentance."  We  shall  not  speak  of 
the  symbolic  meaning  of  the  circumstance,  other  than 
to  remark  in  the  language  of  another,  "We  need  not 
long  in  vain  for  water  from  the  well  of  Bethlehem. 
The  host  of  the  mighty  has  been  broken  through  ; 
a  stronger  than  the  strong  has  unlocked  for  us  the 
flowings  of  the  river  of  life ;  but  oh  !  if  Ave  would 
take  of  the  stream  and  live  forever,  we  must  ac- 
knowledge it  as  the  blood  of  Him,  who  went  on  our 
behalf  against  principalities  and  powers  ;"  and  who 
finding  the  springs  of  human  happiness  dried,  filled 
them  from  his  own  veins,  and  they  gushed  with  im- 
mortality. "Who  would  not  press  through  difficulty 
to  obtain  such  a  draught?" 

"Eternal  lil'e  is  nature's  ardent  wish," 

"My  blood  is  drink  indeed,"  said  he  who  slept  in 
Bethlehem's  humblest   manger;    of  whom    and   his 


BEI'ULEHEM.  41 

birth-place,  Ibn  Haukal,  a  Mahometan  writer  says : 
"Here  Jesus,  on  whom  be  peace,  was  born  of  his 
mother." 

Bethlehem's  well,  consecrated  to  the  memory  of 
David,  and  a  symbol  of  the  "  opened  Fountain,"  in 
the  side  of  Jesus,  his  lineal  descendant,  will  ever 
be  shown  to  the  passing  Pilgrim,  as  a  memorial  of 
the  truth  of  that  Scripture  in  which  their  characters 
are  described,  and  their  actions  recorded. 


BESOR. 

When  we  contemplate  the  character  of  any  nation 
of  antiquity,  we  conclude  that  none  were  so  favored 
and  happy  as  that  of  Israel.  Occupying  a  land 
which  yielded  a  spontaneous  subsistence,  with  a  sky 
ever  bright,  they  needed  naught  to  make  them  happy. 
Sensible  of  these  blessings,  they  cheerfully  rejoicT'd 
in,  and  devoutly  magnified  the  goodness  of  God. 
As  a  general  feeling,  the  consciousness  of  security 
was  all  that  the  Jew  desired.  If  he  might  continue 
to  behold  the  temple  on  Moriah,  and  the  palace  on 
Sion,  unmolested,  if  Jerusalem  might  stretch  its 
streets  from  hill  to  hill,  '•  spreading  its  gardens  in 
the  vales,  and  hanging  its  vineyards  on  the  cliffs  ; "  if 
he  still  might  descry  from  afar  the  tents  of  the 
tribes,  reposing  in  peace  around  the  borders  of  the 
land  ;  and  hear  the  murmurs  of  Jordan,  and  the 
roar  of  the  Mediterranean;  and  see  Hermon  and 
Lebanon  "  waving  their  glories  ;  "  and  feel  the  cool 
breezes,  that  came  from  them,  and  swept  southward, 
to  refresh  the  sultry  desert ;  he  was  contented  and 
happy.       How    could    such   a   people   be  unhappy  ? 


BESOR.  '^  43 

how  be  unmindful  of  Him  from  whom  tliey  received 
these  blessings  ?  Occupying  a  land  whose  every 
breeze  was  laden  with  blessings ;  where  the  firmament 
brightened  with  joyous  promises,  it  would  be  anoma- 
lous did  they  not  realize — 

"  We  are  living,  we  are  living 
In  a  grand  and  awful  time, 
In  an  age,  on  ages  telling, 
To  be  living  is  sublime." 

Rising  up,  under  the  influence  of  such  a  sentiment, 
Moses  spake  amid  the  triumph  of  a  glorious  antiquity, 
"Happy  art  thou,  0  Israel:  who  is  like  unto  thee, 
0  people  saved  by  the  Lord!  "  whilst  one  of  their 
remoter  sons,  the  "Seraph  of  prophecy,"  was  com- 
missioned to  say,  "  Comfort  ye,  comfort  ye  my 
people,  saith  your  God."  Yet  they  forsook  God, 
"the  fountain  of  living  waters,"  and  hewed  out  for 
themselves  cisterns,  "  broken  cisterns  which  could 
hold  no  ivater.''  For  these  things  the  Lord  had 
said,  "I  will  raise  up  against  you  a  nation,  0  house 
of  Israel,  saith  the  Lord,  the  God  of  hosts,  and 
they  shall  afflict  you,  from  the  entering  in  of  Hamath 
unto  the  river  Besor." 

Judging  from  the  description,  (Amos,  6th  chap.) 
they  were  in  a  most  deplorable  condition.  Once 
they  were  honorably,  happily  and  usefully  identified 

with  the  cause  and  worship   of  God;  theii*  names 
4 


44  UHSOR. 

were  "  written  in  heaven,"  registered  and  attested 
in  the  books  of  grace  and  of  glory.  But  now  they 
are  no  more  seen  on  either  page.  They  were  not  so 
much  blotted  as  washed  out.  The  tears  of  the 
recording  angels,  both  in  heaven  and  on  earth,  fell 
upon  them,  and  dissolved  the  faintest  line.  Once 
they  were  happiest  when  united  with  their  brethren 
in  gracious  devotions  and  useful  efforts;  but  now 
they  absent  themselves  entirely  from  the  service  of 
the  temple,  or  when  perchance  they  presented  them- 
selves in  the  outer  courts,  they  felt  like  outcasts,  and 
despairing  of  mercy,  looked  coldly  and  censoriously 
around  on  their  former  and  more  devout  companions. 
Once  as  a  people  they  exulted  in  the  hallowed  con- 
templations of  uplifted  prayer,  but  now  their  eyes 
are  fastened  on  the  ground ;  and  yet  the  shadow 
that  lies  in  their  path,  and  the  lightning  that  glares 
at  their  feet,  and  the  thunder  which  they  can  but 
hear,  assure  them  that  the  cloud  is  over  them,  and 
the  storm  is  stooping  to  its  terrible  task.  Well 
might  the  guilty  Jew  tremble  at  the  mention  of  the 
name  Besor,  as  comprehending  the  painful  extent  of 
the  punishment  with  which  they  were  about  to  be 
visited.  From  this  river  of  Egypt,  on  the  south,  to 
the  entering  of  Haraath,  on  the  north,  his  chastise- 
ment would  exTPTid.      When 


The  land  uU  desolate  should   lie, 
Like  burning  clouds  along  the  sky. 

This  visitation  was  not  so  much  to  punish  them  for 
their  iniquities,  as  for  not  having  been  more  fruitful 
and  useful.  None  can  please  God,  and  advance 
through  all  the  stages  of  christian  experience,  from 
repentance  to  holiness,  without  being  useful.  Un- 
fruitfulness  like  the  Israelites'  is  not  absolute,  but 
relative;  not  positive,  but  comparative.  A  tree  may 
be  good,  and  yet  we  may  call  it  unfruitful ;  not 
because  it  bears  no  fruit,  but  a  little  fruit.  A  vine, 
being  good,  may  be  called  unfruitful  for  the  siLme 
reason.  As  on  one  tree  there  may  be  fruit,  hanging 
thinly  on  all  the  branches;  so  on  the  vine  the  clus- 
ters may  swell  and  ripen  only  here  and  there ;  and 
both  may  be  called  unfruitful  for  want  of  plente- 
ousness.  If  we  consult  the  welfare  of  our  own  souls, 
the  prosperity  of  the  church,  and  the  glory  of  God, 
we  will  take  care  to  have  our  "  fruit  unto  holiness." 
Their  internal  dissentions  were  the  cause  of  their 
delinquency.  Indeed,  it  is  hard  to  conceive  how 
the  vineyard  can  bring  forth  fruit,  when  the  laborers 
are  quarreling  about  the  use  of  the  means,  the  mode 
of  culture,  or  of  gathering.  How  many  plants  may 
perish  in  consequence  of  this  division  God  only 
knows   now;  but  they  who  are  the  cause  of  it,  will 


46  BESOR. 

know  to  their  sorrow  hereafter.  If  the  woman,  by 
simply  touching  the  hem  of  the  Savior's  garment, 
was  made  whole,  how  fearful  the  crime  incurred  by 
those  who,  by  needless,  unchristian  exactions,  repel 
the  lowly  applicant  for  mercy?  If  christian  feuds 
were  removed  from  the  church,  who  can  fail  to  dis- 
cern, that  the  whole  sacramental  host  of  God's  elect 
might  move  more  irresistibly  on  to  the  world's 
redemption  ?  Observation  attests,  that  enough  men- 
tal power  is  expended  every  year,  by  church  cham- 
pions against  one  another,  to  convert  thousands  to 
the  Savior,  if  more  consistently  directed. 

The  river  Besor,  on  the  southern  boundary  of 
Canaan,  as  it  indicated  the  extent  of  their  territorial 
privileges,  also  marked  the  measure  of  their  punish- 
ment. The  capability  to  enjoy  increases,  in  exact 
ratio,  to  the  capability  to  suffer.  If  the  sensitive,  cul- 
tivated mind  will  be  keenly  alive  to  the  slightest 
impressions  of  mental  inaccuracy,  and  endure  mental 
torture  in  the  contemplation  of  a  scarce  perceptible 
deficiency  in  literary  taste;  angels,  as  superior  in 
mental  endowment,  and  occupying  that  peerless 
clime,  favorable  to  the  highest  developement  of  the 
mental  and  moral  faculties,  may  clearly  perceive  the 
vanity  of  those  ideal  perfections,  that  swell  the 
heart  of  man.     Tn  illustration  of  the  same  thought, 


HKSOR.  47 

the  sinner,  before  having  his  conscience  quickened 
by  the  Spirit's  teachings,  will  not  perceive  the  enor- 
mity of  that  guilt,  under  a  sense  of  which  the 
awakened  sinner  will  almost  despair  of  obtaining 
mercy.  To  the  same  purport  are  the  lines  of  Cow- 
ley— 

"  When  my  new  mind  bad  no  infusion  kucjwu. 
Thou  gav'st  so  deep  a  tincture  of  thine  own. 
That  ever  since  I  vainly  try 
To  wash  away  the  inherent  dye." 

Rising,  as  before  described,  in  the  mountainous 
porti<ns  of  the  tribe  of  Simeon,  it  flows  in  a  west- 
erly lirection,  and  empties  into  the  Mediterranean, 
near  the  ruins  of  Anthedou.  It  is  distinguished  in 
the  history  of  the  Jews,  as  the  boundary  of  their 
territory;  the  crossing  of  which,  whether  for  peace 
or  war,  seldom  resulted  in  their  advantage.  So  long 
as  it  shall  flow,  thair  punishment,  extending  from 
Hamath  to  this  stream,  will  be  remembered  by  the 
Jew  with  humbling  penitence.  Would  God,  his 
displeasure  were  now  removed  from  that  people, 
who  now, 

'•Fioin  better  habitations  spurned, 

Rehictantly  dost  rove; 
Or  grieve  for  frieudthips  uiireUirni^d, 

Ur  unretiHrditl  iuve." 

4* 


CHERITH-A  BROOK. 


If  the  reader  will  refer  to  Mr.  Sydney  E.  Morses' 
map  of  Palestine,  he  will  discover  near  the  confines 
of  Ephraim  and  Benjamin,  a  dotted  line,  representing 
the  spiral  windings  of  this  little  periodical  water 
course.  Rising  in  the  Quarantania  mountains,  it 
flows  eastwardly,  until  its  crystal,  silvery-like  waters, 
are  lost  amid  the  ever-rolling  and  muddy  waters 
of  the  Jordan.  Its  precise  locality  is  not  impor- 
tant, to  make  it  an  interesting  object  to  the  stu- 
dent of  sacred  Geography.  Perhaps,  of  all  the 
sti-eams  and  fountains  of  the  Holy  Land,  none  pre- 
sent more  interesting  subjects  of  meditation,  than 
the  brook  of  which  Elijah  was  commanded  to  drink, 
whilst  being  fed  by  ravens,  amid  the  overhanging 
rocks  and  deep  shades  through  which  it  flows. 

Every  thing  in  connection  with  this  Prophet,  is  of 
deep  and  abiding  interest.  Early  taught  the  sinful- 
ness and  imperfection  of  his  nature,  and  the  integri- 
ty of  Divine  Providence,  he  Avas  ever  enabled  to 
thank  God  for  his  goodness,  whilst  he  reverently  and 
heroically  rejoiced  in  his  commands.  "The  history 
of  our   race  furnishes  some  few   men,  who   are   like 


CHERITH.  49 

those  mountain  summits  whicli  repose  in  light,  whilst 
all  below  is  a  deep  shadow,  To  me,  Mosef;  indepen- 
dent of  the  inspiration  he  received  from  heaven,  is 
the  grandest  man  the  world  has  produced.  Intellec- 
tually, he  towers  above  all  before  and  after  him. 
The  level  ray  which  should  leave  his  forehead,  would 
gild  but  few  brows  on  the  earth.  By  it,  we  might 
see  the  faces  of  Elijah,  David  and  Isaiah;  but  scarce 
another,  till  we  came  to  Paul."  Inherently  great  as 
are  these  men,  we  never  seem  to  attach  much  impor- 
tance to  their  characters;  unless  they  are  presented 
to  view,  amid  the  most  exciting  and  bewildering 
scenes.  If  Paul  be  the  object  upon  which  we  are 
wont  to  gaze,  we  wish  to  contemplate  him  from  the 
top  of  Mars  Hill,  with  the  gorgeous  city  at  his  feet, 
with  the  Acropolis  and  Parthenon  behind  him  ;  or 
on  the  deck  of  his  shattered  vessel  in  the  intervals  of 
the  crash  of  billows ;  or  when  speaking  with  a  calm 
and  determined  tone,  from  within  the  gloomy  walls 
of  a  prison.  So  in  the  contemplation  of  Elijah,  we 
wish  to  see  him  on  the  broad  summit  of  Carmel, 
where  are  congregated  the  Prophets  and  worshippers 
of  Baal,  two  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
which  retiring  with  reverent  ?nurmurs  from  its  base, 
mirrors  out  on  its  billows  the  host  of  infatuated  wor- 
shippers.    After  having  in  vain  sought  the  attention 


•)"*  CFiKKiTfi. 

and  implored  the  protection  of  their  dumb  deity, 
they  gave  up  in  despair,  and  were  compelled  to  de- 
sist from  the  exciting  and  tumultuous  scene.  After 
which  Elijah,  praying,  when  as  yet  the  ardent  ac- 
cents trembled  on  his  lips,  there  came  from  the  cloud- 
less heaven,  fire,  falling  like  lightning  upon  the  sac- 
rafice,  burned  to  the  consuming  altar,  sacrifice  and 
all,  until  the  water  was  licked  from  the  trenches. 
Then  suddenly  a  murmur,  coming  up  from  the  pros- 
trate and  awe-struck  multitude,  swelling  louder  and 
louder  like  the  gathering  roar  of  the  sea,  rolled  out 
on  the  hazy  atmosphere  in  accents  of  triumphant 
adoration. 

Then,  when  standing  by  a  gloomy  cave  on  Horeb, 
we  contemplate  him  with  enthusiastic  regard,  whilst 
the  hurricane's  resistless  blast,  strews  the  mountain 
sides  all  round  with  wreck  and  chaos.  Repressing 
the  feeling  of  wonder,  we  may  find  more  to  admire, 
when  through  the  deep  quiet  and  breathless  hush  that 
succeeded  the  earthquake  and  the  storm,  there  came 
a  still  small  voice,  the  lulling  cadence  of  which  had  not 
ere  then  fallen  upon  mortal  ear  ;  and  which,  though 
small  and  still,  thi'illed  through  the  Prophet's  frame 
with  electric  power,  and  rose  so  clear  and  sweet, 

•  Tiiat  all  iu  heavfu  and  eurih  uiiglil  hear. 
It  spoko  1)1"  peace — it  spoke  of  love; 
ll  8|)oke  as  aiif^eis  speak  above'." 


CHERITH.  51 

We  retire  to  the  banks  of  the  Jordan,  where  the 
brook  Cherith  pours  its  little  compliment  of  -water, 
to  aid  in  swelling  the  life  current  of  the  Holy  Land. 
The  whole  scene,  far  as  the  eye  can  scan  the  desert, 
is  wild  and  terrible.  Dead  silence  reigns,  interrup" 
ted  only  by  the  cry  of  the  bittern.  No  human  foot- 
prints are  seen.  We  will,  in  imagination,  enter  the 
thicket,  where  no  pathway  opening  to  our  view,  we 
commence  our  advance,  measured  by  Jordan's  mur- 
murs. Through  one  thicket  and  another;  through 
rocky  and  narrow  passes,  we  onward  tread,  until 
reaching  a  deep  narrow  glen,  the  winding  brook  by 
which  we  have  ascended,  comes  murmuring  along, 
and  pours  down  upon  us  through  the  rocky  masses. 
We  stand  at  the  base  of  the  rock,  over  which  the  stir- 
ring water  dashes  its  silver  spray.  The  brook  seems 
to  speak  in  prophetic  murmurs  of  other  waters, 
which  God  would  pour  upon  the  thirsty  land;  and  of 
springs  which  should  break  forth  in  the  desert. 
Here,  as  the  evening  shades  advance,  throwing  their 
lengthened  forms  around  the  spot,  we  lift  our  eyes, 
and  casting  a  glance  to  the  opposite  side,  see  a  ven- 
erable form  covered  with  a  coarse  hairy  mantle, 
sitting  in  the  attitude  which  bespeaks  calm  holy 
reflection.  Oppressed  with  the  deep  solitude,  and 
weary  with  travel,  we  need  not  hesisate,  in  recogni- 


52  CHERITH. 

zing  the  form  of  the  Prophet.  As  a  punishment  for 
the  sins  of  Israel,  and  as  an  illustration  of  his  zeal 
for  the  honor  of  God,  he  had  prayed  that  it  might 
not  rain.  The  answer  was,  that  it  was  according  to 
the  will  of  God.  In  a  country  like  that  of  Israel, 
where  the  "former  and  latter  rain"  were  indispen- 
sable, it  was  a  severe  punishment.  The  land  became 
desolate.  The  rays  of  that  sun  which  before  diffused 
a  smile  over  the  face  of  nature,  nOw  gleamed  upon 
the  earth  with  its  scorching  beams.  The  withering 
and  unknown  Sirocco  dried  up  every  rivulet  and 
fountain.  Plants  ever  green,  and  trees  which  hith- 
erto waved  at  the  fanning  of  the  breeze,  dropped 
their  leaves  and  withered  away.  Wild  beasts  moaned 
in  the  forests,  and  bleating  flocks,  and  living  herds, 
explored  in  vain  for  food.  Amid  all  this  desolation, 
there  stood  the  Prophet  of  Israel,  like  some  ancient 
venerated  column,  within  the  shadow  of  which  all 
that  is  fresh  and  green,  alone  can  exist.  And  yet, 
like  Sampson,  standing  in  the  temple  of  Dagon,  in 
calling  down  destruction  upon  his  own  and  his  coun- 
try's enemies,  he  seemed  about  to  perish  in  the  gen- 
eral ruin.  The  prayer  once  offered  and  accepted, 
could  not  be  recalled  when  its  answer  involved  the 
Divine  honor.  The  match  with  which  the  vengeanee 
of  Jehovah  was  to  be  kindled  to  explosive  fury,  was 


("HKKITH.  :)') 

already  thrown,  and  none  were  able  to  bring  it  back. 
Nothing  now  remained  to  him,  in  common  with  the 
wicked,  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  but  the  convic- 
tion that  God  had  made  the  heavens  to  gleam  like 
sapphire,  as  a  means  of  just  and  vindictive  punish- 
ment. And  now,  though  sad  and  ready  to  repent  of 
such  a  prayer,  his  heart  can  do  nothing  but  mourn 
and  complain ;  or  as  a  means  of  solace,  reflect  upon 
his  former  cheerful  emotions.  With  the  Prophet,  we 
often  realize,  when  imminent  dangers  encompass,  or 
the  waves  of  trouble  come  suddenly  around  us,  that 
the  watchword  "Master,  awake  we  perish,"  is  suffi- 
cient to  secure  the  Divine  attention,  and  enlist  in 
our  aid  his  Omnipotent  power.  Often,  by  some 
external  help,  or  by  some  spiritual  testimony  and 
assurance  of  his  grace  is  given  us  as  an  evidence  of  his 
complacent  regard.  We  are  at  once  enabled  to  bear 
our  temporal  burdens,  and  rejoice  in  anticipation  of 
future  trials.  These  seasons  of  desolation,  like  that 
experienced  by  Elijah,  are  often  intended  to  make  us 
appreciate  more  joyfully,  those  blessings  which  he 
intends  to  bestow  upon  us.  For  after  the  endurance 
of  sorrow,  nothing  can  be  more  soothing  and  grati- 
fying, than  the  visitation  of  Divine  love.  The  voice 
of  Christ  never  sounds  with  such  enrapturing  melody 
as  when  in  seasons  of  ti-ouble,  doubt  and  privation. 


64  OHEKITH. 

he  unexpectedly  knocks  at  our  door,  and  gives  us 
evidence  that  he  regards  us  with  complacency.  The 
Prophet  was  not  long  left  to  his  sorrowful  musings, 
in  the  sad  and  solitary  condition  in  which  we  observe 
he  was  placed.  If  the  heavens  were  dark  to  all  else, 
there  was  a  bright,  clear  open  space  above  the  head 
of  Elijah  ;  around  which  the  bow  of  promise  and 
protection  gleamed  hopeful  and  beautiful,  as  when 
spanned  around  the  soft  bright  cloud  of  summer. 

"The  word  of  the  Lord  came  unto  him,  saying, 
get  thee  hence,  and  turn  thee  eastward,  and  hide 
thyself  by  the  brook  Cherith,  which  is  before  Jordan 
and  it  shall  be,  that  thou  shalt  drink  of  the  brook  ; 
and  I  have  commanded  the  ravens  to  feed  thee." 
Singular  as  was  this  command,  it  was  sufficient  to 
induce  him,  who  was  afterwards  borne  up  above  his 
troubles  in  a  fiery  chariot,  surrounded  by  angels,  to 
accept  the  command,  and  depart  for  the  place  of 
safety.  There  we  found  him  in  our  imaginary  excur- 
sion, after  having  endured  near  twelve  months  con- 
finement, amid  the  solitary  gloom  of  that  deep,  dark 
wilderness. 

Often,  when  reading  this  interesting  account  of 
the  Prophet  at  the  brook  Cherith,  we  have  pictured 
him,  depressed  and  wearied  with  his  exile,  bending 
his  face   to  the    earth,   amid  the    deep    solitude  by 


^ 


CMSiKITH.  55 

which  he  was  surrounded.  Hard  as  would  have  beeu 
his  fato  to  have  perished  in  the  general  famine,  thia 
m'ght  seem  to  have  been  a  more  cruel  affliction. 
But  God  sees  not  as  man  seeth;  his  ways  are  not  as 
ours.  Amid  the  gloom  of  the  wilderness,  his  bliss- 
ful presence  is  found.  Fear  not  Elijah  !  Lift  up 
thine  eye  and  look  to  the  rock  neath  the  dark 
shadow  of  which  thou  art  now  fallen,  and  let  it  speak 
of  the  "rock"  on  which  thy  hope  doth  rest.  Let  the 
trees,  neath  the  dependent  branches  of  which  thou 
dost  repose,  speak  of  the  waving  palm  and  the  tree 
of  life,  in  whose  shade  thou  shalt  rest,  and  from 
whose  bending  branches,  shall  be  furnished  thee  an 
everlasting  supply. 

Thoughts  of  these  things,  served  to  raise  the  bowed 
form  of  the  Prophet,  who,  looking  encouragingly  up, 
saw  the  bright  forms  of  many  cheerful  songsters, 
perched  on  the  swinging  branches,  whilst  their  carol 
vespers  rolled  out  on  the  evening  air,  like  the  song 
of  spirit  voices,  causing  him  to  feel, 

"If  in  this  lipart,  a  hope  be  dear, 
That  sound  shnll  charm  it  forth  again; 
If  in  these  eyes  there  lurk  a  tear, 
'Twill  flow  and  cease  to  burn  my  brain." 

Then  when  the  morning  dawned  in  Cherith's  rocky 
vale,  the  cry  of  innumerable    ravens,  reflecting  the 
5 


66  CHERITH. 

first  beams  of  the  rising  sun,  on  their  dark  pinions, 
was  heard  aloft  amid  the  trees,  bearing  the  days  pro- 
vision to  the  Prophet  of  God.  Loosing  the  natural 
voraciousness  of  their  species,  these  creatures  com- 
ing and  going  on  their  heavenly  mission,  to  and  from 
the  Prophet's  retreat,  in  denying  their  own  appetites 
performed  a  most  interesting  office.  "He  who  pro- 
videth  for  the  raven  his  food,  when  his  young  ones 
cry  unto  God,  and  wander  for  lack  of  meat"  em- 
ployed them  to  minister  to  the  necessities  of  his 
servant.  Every  four.tain  exhausted;  every  forest 
stream  dried  up;  one  stream — the  brook  Cherith, 
continued  clear  and  fresh,  and  full,  as  though  Jordan 
still  poured  o'er  its  rocky  bed  ;  whilst  the  whole  land 
was  parched,  and  crisp,  and  dry,  one  spot — the 
Prophet's  vale — continued  fresh  and  green,  and  cool. 
Adhering,  as  we  steadfastly  hope  to  do,  to  the  doc- 
trine of  God's  providence,  we  rejoice  in  the  "Lord 
God  of  Elijah."  The  Prophet  long  since  made  his 
exit  from  Cherith  and  Israel,  in  a  chariot  all  brilliant 
with  glory. 

Formed  by  the  Architpct  tlml  biiiit  the  skies," 

From  the  time  its  burning  wheels  rested  on  the 
"Mount  of  God,"  century  after  century  rolled  away, 
and  whilst  walking  with  the  "harpers"  through  the 


CHERITH.  57 

rich  meadows,  and  by  the  flowing  fountains  of  the 
upper  Paradise,  the  remembrance  of  Chcrith  had 
been  almost  lost  amid  its  glories.  At  length, 
standing  amid  the  "celestial  worthies,"  he  was  sum- 
moned away  with  Moses,  to  witness  the  transfigura- 
tion of  Him,  whom  angels  "delight  to  worship." 
Enveloped  with  the  same  cloud  which  displayed  the 
glories  of  their  Master,  Peter,  James  and  John, 
might  well  exclaim,  as  they  look  up,  '■Ht  is  good  to 
be  here;  let  us  build  three  tabernaeles ;  one  for 
Christ,  one  for  Moses,  and  one  for  Ellas." 

Well  did  the  disciples  say,  "it  is  good  to  be  here," 
it  is  good  to  be  on  the  Mount  of  Christian  enjoyment, 
where  Avithout  a  dimming  veil,  our  eye  may  joyful 
view  the  "Mount  of  God."  It  is  good  too,  in  sea- 
sons of  distress,  and  as  preparatory  to  "scale"  that 
Mount,  to  sit  down  in  hopeful  complacency,  and 
drink  of  the  murmuring  brook. 


CHEBAR-A  RIVER. 

We  may  be  led  to  conclude,  from  a  superficial 
view  of  the  nature  and  design  of  propecy,  that  the 
evidence  of  the  inspiration  from  which  it  professes 
to  be  derived,  will  rise  in  precision  and  importances 
in  proportion  to  the  clearness  of  the  revelation.  This 
supposition  might,  indeed,  be  correct,  were  it  not 
reserved  for  human  agents  to  carry  into  effect  the 
event  predicted ;  and  were  not  the  evidence  of  the 
divine  intention,  which  prophecy  conveys,  intended  to 
produce  a  rational  conviction  of  their  truth.  Thougl^ 
prophecy  might  be  so  far  involved  as  to  leave 
those  who  were  instrumental  in  carrying  it  into  effect, 
60  wholly  unfettered  in  their  freedom  as  to  be  uncon- 
scious of  the  purpose  achieved;  it  should  yet  possess 
a  precision,  that  when  carried  into  effect,  the  observer 
could  have  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  prediction  so 
far  agreed  with  the  event,  as  not  to  assimilate  with 
any  other.  These  observations  have  been  made  in 
view  of  the  seeming  obscurity  with  which  many  of 
the  prophecies  have  been  invested.  They  are,  how- 
ever, not  so  greatly  hidden  as  will,  in  any  essential, 
impair  their  harmony  or  importance.     In  the  inter- 


pretation  of  prophecy,  as  of  all  Scripture,  the  only 
safe  and  proper  method,  is  by  collation  of  the  seve- 
ral parts ;  like  the  sun's  rays  converger!  in  the  water 
drop,  every  tint  jf  moral  excellency  ami  beauty  will 
be  reflected  from  this  consecrated  focus  of  love  and 
wisdom.  Concentrating  in  this  Avay  the  burthen  of 
all  prophecy,  whether  of  more  remote  or  later  reve- 
lation, we  feel  assured  to  say,  the  terms  in  which, 
God's  purposes,  on  the  introduction  of  the  Iraelites 
into  Canaan,  are  revealed,  are  not  more  explicit  than 
those  in  which  his  intentions  are  declared  to  be 
fulfilled,  in  the  introduction  of  the  spiritual  Israel  to 
their  everlasting  rest. 

We  hope  these  remarks  will  be  borne  in  mind,  as 
we  contemplate  the  scene  on  which  such  singularly 
important  visions  were  revealed  to  the  prophet  Eze- 
kiel. 

The  river  Chebar  takes  its  rise  in  the  mountain 
ranges  south  of  Arrarat,  flowing  first  south,  and  then 
west,  until  it  empties  into  the  Euphrates,  near  the 
town  of  Charchoraish.  Like  t'^e  streams  of  the 
Alps,  rising  in  gorges  covered  by  eternal  snow,  the 
deep  roar  of  mountain  torrents  furnishes  an  inex- 
haustible supply  to  this  river,  hallowed  in  the  annals 
of  prophecy.  This  river,  like  the  "junction"  of  the 
Arve  and   the    Rhone,   seems  to   be  a    concentrated 


60  CHEBAiR.. 

object  of  contemplation.  Both  are  the  emblems  of 
mysteries  deep  and  unutterable.  It  is  A'ain  for  man 
to  embrace  the  -wide- spread  scenes  of  eaith  in  his 
gaze,  "when  nature  appears  thus  centered  in  two  or 
three  cherished  spots,  around  which  he  may  ever 
fondly  linger.  It  is  vain  to  perplex  ourselves  in 
the  study  of  the  deep  and  unutterable  mysteries  of 
Bible  history,  when  there  are  two  or  three  bright 
promises,  clear  and  plain,  on  which  we  can  fix  our 
hope  and  attention,  and  repose  on  forever,  with  feel- 
ings of  ecstacy  and  joy.  Sometimes  our  mind, 
without  an  effort,  rests  like  a  sumir.er  cloud  on  the 
mountain  summit,  drinking  up  the  bright  sunshine 
beneath;  and  then  again,  floating  here  and  there,  is 
driven  like  some  maddened  spirit  before  the  storm. 
There  are  scenes  and  associations  capable  of  holding 
in  abeyance  the  mind's  wildest  imaginings.  The 
heart  that  loves  us  is  its  strongest  tie;  which,  like  our 
home  of  affection  by  the  side  of  some  beautiful  bay, 
is  a  point  peeping  amid  the  dark  green  foliage  of  the 
trees,  from  which  our  eyes  will  not  turn,  though  the 
boundless  ocean  of  ligbt  and  waves  glitters  in  the 
sun  beneath  our  vision.  This  is  natural.  'Tis  pro- 
per to  love  those  whose  home  of  affection  exists  only 
in  our  bosom.  To  refuse  affection  to  those  who  love 
us,    is  unjust    to   those  to  whom   we  owe  our  regard 


CHEBAR.  61 

Strip  life  of  the  heart  that  loA'es  you,  and  what 
remains?  Blot  out  the  locality  and  the  house  that 
form  the  home  of  your  heart,  and  all  is  a  dazzling 
blank,  into  which  we  look,  without  finding  love  or 
repose. 

This  river,  the  scene  on  which  such  strange  and 
mysterious  visions  were  shown,  was  also  the  place 
where  the  prophet  learned  to  truly  love  his  people. 
Here  was  revealed  the  force  of  that  spirit-stirring 
sentence,  "  Should  not  the  shepherd  feed  his  flocks." 
Here  his  heart  throbbed  with  the  glory  of  the  prom- 
ise— "  I  will  sprinkle  clean  water  upon  the  nation, 
and  ye  shall  be  clean :  a  new  heart  also  will  I  give 
unto  you,  and  a  new  spirit  will  I  put  within  you,  and 
I  will  take  away  the  stony  heart  which  is  within  you, 
and  give  you  a  heart  of  flesh.  (Ezek.  xxxvi :  25,  26.) 
'Twas  by  Chebar's  waters  that  the  idea  of  seeing  the 
captives  restored,  and  Jerusalem  again  the  joy  of 
the  land,  was  first  conceived. 

Here  he  contemplated  that  delightful  union  of 
heart  and  life,  between  the  children  of  his  people, 
which  diff'used  such  soft  and  radiant  light  through 
his  soul.  We  may  suppose  this  feeling  was  vague 
and  indefinite,  until  when  by  the  banks  of  the  river, 
the  cloud  of  vision  was  lifted  up  from  his  soul.  After 
this,    he    was   so  forcibly  impressed   with  God's  love 


62  CHEBAR. 

for  the  people,  that  the  teachings  of  the  vision,  stri- 
king forcibly  upon  his  heart,  vibrated  to  its  inmost 
chord.  Here,  after  the  retiring  of  the  heavenly  vision, 
that  certain  calmness  which  is  always  produced  in 
the  agitated  mind,  after  the  cessation  of  doubt,  took 
possession  of  his  soul,  inspiring  obedience  to  Him  to 
whose  service  he  had  been  called. 

There  are  many  things  in  nature  tending  to  in- 
spire hope  and  joy.  Our  heart  follows  the  objects 
of  attachment,  like  light  on  the  sea,  which  gives  the 
undulating  waves  an  oscillating  movement,  and  pro- 
longs the  vessel's  dazzling  track,  until  it  disappears 
on  the  horizon.  These  brilliant  objects  of  life  please 
us  much,  and  serve  to  lull  to  sleep  those  useless, 
feverish  emotions  of  the  soul,  which  waste  away  both 
mind  and  imagination,  before  that  period  when  our 
destiny  and  duty  summon  us  to  take  an  active  part  in 
the  busy  world.  The  ideal,  visionaay  world,  the  world 
of  soul  nnd  sentiment,  has  perhaps  a  still  greater  influ- 
ence than  all  other  causes,  in  formation  of  our  char- 
acters. Music  and  poetry  are  but  the  themes  upon 
which  each  one  r  uses  up  his  own  feelings  and  actions. 
Nature  itself,  that  from  which  all  music  and  poetry 
derive  their  power,  will  be  still  more  powerful  and 
permanent  in  its  impressions ;  so  that  a  few  wreaths 
of  sunshine,    streaming    through    the    clouds    which 


CHEBAR.  63 

float  in  eddying  vapors  around  our  mountain   home, 
can  never   be  eifaced   from  the   mind.     If,  when  on 
the  bank  of  an  undulating  river,   coursing  its  way 
.  through  a  deep  valley,  wrapped  in  a  covering  of  fog, 
we  look    up    with  awe,   reverence   and  affection,  to 
some  lovely  rainbow  in   the   mist ;  how,  think  you, 
the  mind  of  the  prophet  was  impressed,  when  on  the 
banks   of  the   Chebar,    there   was  revealed  to  him, 
amid  the   eddying  clouds  with  which  the  vale  was 
enveloped,    such    sights    as   mortal   eye   had   iie'er 
beheld  !     Like  the  supposed  scene,  though  more  sub- 
limely   terrific,    were    some    of  the   visions    of  the 
1 1  prophet.     Yet,  as  the  appearance  of  the  bow  that  is  in 
i !  the  cloud,  in  the  day  of  rain,  so  was  the  appearance 
!  of  the  brightness  round  about.     This  ivas  the  appear- 
;  ance  oj  the  likeness  of  that  glory  of  the  Lord.    And 
\ '  when  I  saw  it  I  fell  upon  my  face,  and  I  heard  the 
I  voice  of  one  that  spake,  saying,    whether  the  house 
)  of  Israel  hear  or  whether  they  forbear,  be  not  afraid 
of  them  or  of  their  words,  though  briers  and  thorns 
be  Avith  thee,  and  thou  dost  dwell  among  scorpions, 
be  not  afraid   of   them    or   their   looks."     As    the 
i3cenes,  teachings  and   associations  of  early    years 
Ihaunt  us,  from  spot  to  spot,  like  the  murmuring  of 
jsome   insect,  called   into   existence    neath    a  loving 
summer  sky,  so  this  vision  of  the  prophet,  ever  be- 


64  CHEBAR. 

fore  him,  filled  his  mind  with  its  remembrance,  and 
aided  him  in  the  task  of  moral  reformation. 

So  Saint  Paul,  with  his  eje  placed  on  regions 
beyond  the  ken  of  ordinary  mortals,  and  kindling 
on  the  glories  it  was  not  permitted  him  to  reveal, 
presses  forward  to  a  fadeless  kingdom  and  incorrup- 
tible crown.  This  was  that  which,  when  repelling 
the  sneer  of  the  haughty  Tertullus,  before  Felix, 
caused  him  to  forget  his  bonds,  the  noble  audience 
before  him,  and  the  coming  fate ;  whilst  nought  but 
"the  Tlirone  of  Judgment,"  before  which  were  gath- 
ered all  nations,  as  the  Archangel's  trump,  pealing 
the  knell  of  time,  revealed  the  resurrection  morn. 
As  a  priest,  to  Ezekiel,  the  mystic  breast-plate, 
gleaming  with  oracular  jewelry,  was  a  symbol  of 
of  majesty  and  power,  trivial  in  importance  when 
compared  with  the  vision  of  the  "four  beasts  with 
wings;"  of  a  "wheel  in  the  middle  of  a  wheel;"  or 
the  mystic  hand  gleaming  through  the  cloud,  hold- 
ing that  fearful  roll,  "written  within  and  without, 
with  lamentations,  and  mourning,  and  woe."  Ever 
after  these  visions,  he  reproved  the  Jews,  and  others 
to  whom  he  speaks,  with  a  fearlessness  and  zeal, 
which  well  comport  with  the  holiness  of  God,  the 
iniquities  of  the  people,  and  the  tremendous  conse- 
quences resulting  from  it.     Long  as  prophecy  shall 


DEAD    SEA.  65 

be  fulfiling,  shall  the  visions  of  Chebar  be  esteemed 
sacred. 


DEAD  SEA. 


It  may  appear  a  desecration,  to  associate  with  the 
sacred  fountains  of  the  Holy  Land  the  dark  waters 
of  the  Lake  Asphalites ;  a  lake  concerning  which 
the  common,  though  erroneous  tradition  is,  that  no 
living  creature  can  exist  in  its  saline  and  sulphurous 
waters.  But  as  our  purpose  is  to  speak  of  those 
waters,  and  only  those,  which  are  in  some  way  asso- 
ciated with  important  events  in  Bible  history,  we 
could  not  overlook  the  sea,  with  which  our  j^outhfui 
fancy  was  wont  to  associate  a  scene  of  most  terrific 
grandeur.  We  could  perhaps  forget  some  of  the  less 
important  water  courses;  we  might  even  fail  to 
remember  the  particulars  connected  with  the  pool  of 
Bethesda,  and  the  Fountains  of  Elislia ;  but  to  for- 
get the  lake  which  rolls  its  dark  waters  o'er  the 
desolate  and  wicked  cities  of  the  plain,  would  be  as 
impossible    as  to  blot   from    the  divine  record,    the 


66  DEAD    8EA. 

luminous  page  on  which  their    fearful  doom  is  in- 
scribed. 

The  names  and  fate  of  these  places  were  treasured 
in  our  earliest  recollections;  and  we  learned  to  speak 
of  them  in  our  infant  prattle.     As  we  grew  in  years 
and  stature,  those  wicked  acts  which  rendered  them 
present  and  perceptible  to  the  soul,  were  exhibited, 
time  and  again,  to  our  excited  fancy.     And  when 
the    evening   family   vespers   were    sung,    and   our 
mother's  knee  became  our  familiar  altar,  at  which 
time   the  countenance  of  the  mother,    ever   sweet, 
beams  with  a  gentler  lustre,  we  have  summoned  all  our 
strength,  and  clinging  to  her  with  a   tenacity   made 
strong  by  excited  feeling,  have  implored  protection 
from  the  fate  of  Sodom.     This  sea,  remarkable  as 
the  covering  beneath  which  are  buried  the  obscured 
ruins  of  cities,  renowned  as  objects  of»special  vindic- 
tive vengeance,  is  situated  on  the  east  of  the  land  of 
Canaan,  of  which  those  on  the  east  or  Arabian  side 
arc  the  most  rocky.     All  round,  far  as   the  vision 
extends  the  region  bears  an  aspect  of  the   utmost 
sterrility,  showing  neither  vegetation,  nor  the  habi- 
tation of  man  or  beast;  indicating  that  a   country 
which  was  so  wicked  as  to  require  the  exterminating 
hand  of  God  to  cleanse  it,  should  bear  in  all  agea 
the  marks  of  his  displeasure.      And  surely,  that  pro- 


DKAl)    SKA.  67 

fanation  of  self,  that  suicidal  destruction  of  worth 
and  beauty,  and  all  that  was  worth  preserving,  was 
enough  to  send  the  daily  pang  to  the  soul  of  "righte- 
ous Lot,"  and  render  them  fit  subjects  of  divine  ven- 
geance.   Surely  the  casket  will  be  little  valued,  vrhen 
robbed  of  its  most  precious  and  valuable  jewel.     So 
man,  stript  of  his  virtue,   integrity  and  honor,  de- 
serves to  sink  into   oblivion ;  where  the  ensnaring 
and   delusive   lustre  of  his  fatal   example    will  be 
forever  obscured.     Man,  without  piety,  is  deprived 
of  that  life,  which  will  enable  him  to  move  among 
the  community  in  such  a  way  as  will  promote  his 
own  happiness  and  their  good;  and  is  like  the  leper, 
whose  unsightly  and  offensive  person  is  an  object  to 
be  justly  shunned.     The  laws  of  society  and  nature, 
intended  to  be  promotive  of  the  general  good,  wisely 
remove  the  lifeless  body  from  "  our  sight.  "     Shall 
man,  in    matters  which    merely  concern  his  present 
happiness,  act  more  wisely  than  the  God  whose  prov- 
idence is  our  hope  and  stay  ?     Pointing  to  the  dark- 
rolling  of  these  waters,  which  for  ages  have  covered 
the  place  of  His  abhorrence,  we  have  an  abundant 
refutation  of  this  almost  impious  conjecture.     There 
where  the  moonbeam  falls,  but  to  reflect  darkly  the 
ripple  of  these  waters,  which  have  beaten  for  ages 

against  the  shore,  we  seem  to  hear  the  spirits  of  the 
6 


68  DEAD    S5EA. 

abandoned  dead,  pouring  on  the  cheerless  ear,  the 
lone  sound  of  lamentation  and  woe;  appropriate  em- 
blem of  those  dark  waters  which  beat  around  the 
soul,  when  steril  and  unfruitful,  it  is  deprived  of  all 
light  and  hope ;  and  like  the  moonbeam  on  the  sur- 
face of  this  dark  sea,  it  sinks  beneath  the  swelling 
wave,  and  is  lost  forever. 

How  often,  sitting  down  in  the  evening  twilight, 
as  the  dark  shadows  stole  around  our  early  home, 
have  we  tried  to  realize  the  kindly  visits  of  those 
angels  who,  coming  in  the  evening  to  Sodom,  warned 
Lot  of  his  danger,  and  announced  its  fearful  doom. 
I  seemed  to  be  with  them ;  and  entering  the  streets 
with  hesitating  steps,  trembled  lest  I  myself  should 
not  escape  the  impending  doom.  Then,  too,  have 
seemed  to  see  the  devoted  cities,  as  the  first  streak- 
ings  of  the  dawn  broke  on  the  morning  sky;  when 
the  footsteps  of  the  servants,  long  echoing  through 
the  houses,  answered  but  the  caroling  of  the  feath- 
ered songsters,  perched  on  the  pending  vine  branches 
encircling  their  dwellings.  In  one  house  only,  was 
the  sound  of  preparation  and  prayer.  True  all  that 
affectioa  could  do,  all  that  faithful  entreaty  could 
accomplish,  was  done,  to  induce  the  sons-in-law  of 
Lot  to  abandon  tne  place.  All  was  vain ;  and  with  | 
a  sad   heart  Lot  turned  him  away,  solicited,  pressed 


DEAD    SEA.  69 

to  escape  for  his  life.  What,  0  what!  was  to  be- 
come of  those  endeared  objects,  borne  in  his  bosom 
and  cradled  under  the  paternal  roof?  Those  children 
for  Avhom  he  had  cared,  and  who  were  the  image  and 
reflex  of  all  save  the  internal  nobility  of  the  father, 
were  about  to  linger  and  perish.  A  portion  of  that 
family, who  were  but  his  second  self,  and  of  whom  he 
hoped  they  Avould  transmit  his  own  character  and 
feelings  to  succeeding  generations,  and  who  often 
assembled  in  the  little  family  group,  displayed  that 
union  of  hearts  which  linked  them  to  each  other  and 
rendered  vi'jible  their  feelings,  were  now  doomed  to 
destruction.  It  must  not,  could  not  be.  Still  he 
pressed,  still  they  lingered;  until,  laying  hold  of  the 
grieved  and  sorrow-stricken  father,  they  tear  him 
from  his  home  and  kindred.  Ere  this  he  had  many 
sorrows;  but  he  was  like  one  of  that  race  of  oaks, 
which  vegetate  and  renew  their  existence  until  the 
day  the  axe  is  laid  at  their  roots.  A  patriarch  and  a 
servant  of  God,  he  hoped  for  nothing  but  to  spend  the 
evening  of  his  days  amid  the  domestic  enjoyments  and 
the  retiracy  of  his  home;  until  his  holy  example 
should  at  least  secure  the  salvation  of  his  family. 
Having  lost  none  of  his  children,  he  fondly  hoped, 
in  closing  his  eyes  forever,  that  the  heavens  had  ex- 
hjiusted  its   storms  for  a  long  period,  and  that  life 


70  DEAD    SEA. 

■would  prove  more  peaceful  to  those  to  •whom,  when 
leaving  his  home,  he  bequeathed  it. 

"The  sun  had  risen  upon  Zoar,  "  when  Lot  en- 
tered the  adjacent  grove  of  this  the  monumental  city 
of  his  faith  and  prayer.  The  least  of  the  five  cities,  it 
was  probably  less  criminal  than  the  others.  Stripped 
of  all  his  property,  and  doomed  forever,  from  the 
force  of  his  afflictions,  to  an  ignoble  retiracy,  it  was 
still  natural  he  should  cling  to  the  least  remnant  of 
departed  glory.  Pride  and  evil  associations,  the 
great  sources  of  his  unhappiness,  still  seemed  to 
have  their  influence  on  his  character,  and  he  left 
with  regret  the  scenes  of  a  residence  he  should  have 
avoided  with  abhorrence. 

I  have  pictured  for  my  profit,  this  man,  torn  from 
his  residence,  only  to  be  saved  that  he  might  behold 
the  tragic  end  of  his  wife,  and  reflect  with  feelings  of 
sorrow  on  the  fearfully  calamitous  event.  Like  some 
new-fledged  bird,  with  a  heart  unable  to  endure  its 
weight  of  anguish,  he  had  fallen  from  his  nest,  made 
warm  with  the  tenderness  of  a  family,  upon  the 
cold,  damp  ground  of  adversity.  On  the  first  night 
after  his  departure,  would  the  soul  of  this  sorrow- 
stricken  father  burn  with  an  unspeakable  desire  for 
the  meadows  in  which  his  flocks  were  wont  to  roam, 
and  for  that  home,  which  once  the  object  of  solici- 


DEAH    SKA.  71 

tude,  was  now  obscured  by  the  smoke  of  the  ruined 
cities,  ascending  up  until  the  top  vapors  grew  pale 
and  thin  on  the  arch  of  the  moonlit  heavens.  And 
when  retired  to  his  cave,  he  would  seize  in  the  sigh- 
ing of  the  wind,  the  song  of  the  vesper  bird  ;  or  in 
the  rustling  of  the  leaves,  those  memories  of  the  ear, 
which  awakened  reminiscences  in  his  home  but  yes- 
terday, all  happy.  Sad  was  his  heart,  and  deep  was 
his  regret  of  that  strange  infatuation,  which,  in  lea- 
ving Abraham,  induced  him  to  "pitch  his  tent  toward 
Sodom."  Yet,  these /ormer  joys  now  forever  blight- 
ed, were  destined  to  form  for  him,  that  family  of 
the  soul,  to  which,  though  he  owed  not  his  life,  he 
would  owe  all  of  that  happiness,  which  ever  after, 
was  to  form  a  portion  of  the  bliss  which  is  mercifully 
granted  to  sufferers  in  the  most  destitute  condition. 
But,  then,  when  we  view  Lot  in  this  sad  condition, 
we  can  but  see  the  vanity  of  those  riches  and  honors 
which  first  induced  him  to  sacrifice  the  approbation 
of  his  God,  for  the  poor  paltry  prize  of  worldly  ad- 
vancement. These  phantoms  of  the  imagination, 
pursued  with  so  much  vigor,  and  in  the  possession  of 
which,  we  hope  to  deri\'e  so  much  pleasure,  are  ob- 
served all  round  the  sea,  neath  the  roll  of  whose 
wave  the  city  is  forever  obscured,  and  like  sentinel 
spirits,  linger  around  the  grave  of  the  loved  and  lost. 


72  DEAD    SEA. 

The  covetousness  of  Lot's  wife,  which  caused  her  to 
"look  back"  as  they  were  leaving  the  valley  while 
evidencing  her  base  ingratitude,  at  the  kindness 
shown  in  sending  angels  to  deliver,  was  also  just 
cause  why  God's  anger  Avas  so  hot  as  to  deprive  her 
of  life,  and  make  her  an  everlasting  monument  of 
sordidness  and  shame.  After  this,  the  cities  of  the 
plain  were  immediately  destroyed  by  fire  and  brim- 
stone, when  the  whole  adjacent  country  sunk  below 
its  former  level,  and  the  place  was  covered  with  water. 
An  obscured  cave,  high  up  on  the  side  of  some 
neighboring  mountain,  held  the  family  and  posses- 
sions of  him,  who,  preferring  great  wealth,  and  its 
increase  to  the  society  of  Abraham,  was  now  depri- 
ved alike,  of  that  which  he  sought,  and  that  which 
he  despised.  The  turbid  waters  of  the  Jordan, 
winding  amid  steep  and  fallen  banks,  and  dark  thick- 
ets, which  in  many  places  renders  it  inaccessible  to 
the  traveller,  flows  into  this  stagnant  lake,  Avhich 
having  no  visible  outlet,  its  waters  are  lost  forever. 
Its  waters  in  general,  are  shallow  toward  the  shore, 
but  rises  and  falls  with  the  seasons,  and  the  quan- 
tity of  water  carr-ied  into  it  by  the  Jordan  and  other 
streams.  It  also  appears  to  be  either  on  the  increase 
or  to  be  lower  in  some  years  than  others  ;  which 
makes  it   probable  that  those  travellers  are    to   be 


DEAD    SEA.  73 

credited,  who  assert  that  they  have  beheld  the  ruins 
of  cities,  either  exposed  or  engulphed  beneath  its 
waters.  Two  aged  and  respectable  inhabitants  of 
Jerusalem,  told  Mr.  Maundrell,  the  traveller,  that 
they  had  once  been  able  to  see  some  parts  of  these 
ruins  ;  that  they  were  near  the  shore,  and  the  water 
80  shallow  at  the  time,  that  they,  together  with  some 
Frenchmen,  went  into  it  and  found  several  pillars 
and  fragments  of  buildings.  Josephus  says,  he  per- 
ceived traces  or  shades  of  the  cities  on  the  banks  of 
the  lake. 

When  then,  we  suppose  that  at  the  first,  these 
guilty  cities  were  not  entirely  overwhelmed  with  the 
waters,  but  remained  partially  exposed  to  view,  as 
monuments  of  the  judgments  of  God,  these  authori- 
ties will  not  be  despised.  The  specific  gravity  of 
the  water,  has  ever  been  a  fruitful  subject  of  specu- 
lation. The  analysis  of  the  waters  by  Dr.  Marcet 
of  England,  would  seem  to  confirm  the  most  exagc- 
rated  estimate.  As  Dr.  Durbin  the  recent  American 
traveller,  declares  he  waded  into  the  water  carefully, 
to  test  the  oft-repeated  statements  of  the  great  spe- 
cific gravity  of  this  tluid,  and  repeated  the  experi- 
ment several  times;  the  uniform  result  was,  that 
when  the  water  rose  above  the  armpits,  but  not  over 
his  shoulders,  his  body  was  balanced,  and   he  could 


74  DEAD    SEA. 

not  touch  the  bottom,  hut  his  feet  tended  strongly 
to  rise,  and  his  head  to  descend ;  "on  the  surface  he 
hay  still  as  a  knot  of  wood."  We  might  multiply  our 
observations  to  an  indefinite  extent,  as  suggested  by 
this  singular  and  important  sea.  We  direct  atten- 
tion to  the  following,  leaving  to  the  spirit,  the  work 
of  personal  application.  In  "pitching"  his  tent 
toward  Sodom,  we  see  manifested  upon  the  part  of 
Lot,  a  preference  of  mere  temporal  prosperity,  to 
the  spiritual  well  being  of  himself  and  family.  This 
was  a  most  dangerous  manifestation  of  selfishness. 
When  we  prefer  houses  and  lands,  wealth  and  honor 
to  the  salvation  of  the  soul ;  when  we  prefer  evil 
associations,  and  forsake  permanent  good  for  antici- 
pated pleasure,  we  imitate  the  example  of  Lot,  and 
may  be  considered  as  having  ^^pitched  our  tent  to- 
ward Sodom.''  The  commencemeyit  of  an  evil  course 
is  always  dangerous.  As  to  commence  the  work  of 
christian  obedience,  is  but  receiving  the  interest  in 
advance  of  our  inheritance  above.  So  the  com- 
mencement of  a  course  of  crime  is  but  receiving  the 
interest  on  the  magnitude  of  future  evil ;  and  in 
truth,  is  but  paying  the  advance  on  that  contract 
which  results  in  our  everlasting  undoing.  The  trav- 
eller who  may  visit  this  spot  ages  hence,  will  doubt- 
less find  the  surface  of  this  sea,  as  desolate  and  un- 


DEAD     SEA.  75 

frequented  as  at  the  present  hour.  No  country 
thickly  dotted  with  villages,  farms  and  vineyards, 
each  provided  with  its  reservoir  of  water,  drawn 
from  the  Jordan  for  the  purpose  of  constant  irriga- 
tion, and  yielding  in  Eden-like  abundance,  all  the 
luscious  and  delicate  products  of  the  temperate  and 
equatorial  zones  will  ever  be  shown,  for  the  molten 
lake,  but  dimly  mirroring  peerless  stars,  shall  con- 
tinue as  evidence  of  God's  displeasure. 


EUPHRATES-A    RIVER. 


Perhaps  there  is  no  subject  upon  which  there  has 
been  more  frequent  and  absurd  conjectures,  than 
upon  the  probable  situation  of  the  garden  of  Eden. 
Each  one  has  had  a  favorite  situation,  which  he  has 
seen  fit  to  defend  with  a  zeal  and  an  earnestness 
commensurate  with  the  presumed  importance  of  a 
correct  decision.  In  all  of  these  conjectures,  we  find 
as  great  disagreement  as  on  an  occasion  when  man, 
similarly  presuming  to  elevate  his  knowledge  above 
that  which  would  be  beneficial,  had  their  language 
confounded,  so  that  they  could  no  longer  understand 
or  communicate  their  thoughts  to  one  another.  All 
reasoning  and  conclusions  upon  this  subject,  natural- 
ly appears  unsatisfactory  ;  when  we  reflect  that  the 
surface  of  the  earth  must  have  been  broken  up  and 
convulsed  by  the  universal  deluge,  which  in  many 
instances,  altered,  if  it  did  not  obliterate  the  courses 
of  many  rivers.  Maiiv  other  changes  in  the  face  of 
the  country,  produced  as  the  obvious  consequences  of 
the  general  desolation,  Avould  make  it  difficult  at  any 
period,  to  determine  its  precise  locality.  Most  prob- 
ftblv,  after  tho  expulsion  of  our   first  parents  from 


EUPHRATES.  77 

the  garden,  God  chose  to  blot  out  this  beautiful  spot 
from  his  creation,  and  so  destroy,  both  the  scene  and 
the  memorial  of  man's  transgression.  The  learned 
Huetius  and  others,  suppose  Eden  to  have  been  pla- 
ced in  the  southern  part  of  Babylonia,  not  far  from 
the  Persian  Gulf,  where  they  conjecture  the  Tigris 
and  Euphrates  joined,  and  afterward  separated ; 
others  supposing  the  Euphrates  to  have  been  the 
same  with  the  Hinmend  or  Hindmend,  think  Eden 
must  have  been  situated  somewhere  in  the  eastern 
part  of  the  Persian  Empire,  or  in  the  country  now 
called  Cabulistan,  between  Persia  and  Hindoostan. 
These  conjectures  however,  do  not  well  accord  with 
the  description  given,  from  which  we  would  suppose 
the  most  probable  idea,  concerning  the  situation  of 
Paradise,  would  be  to  place  it  in  or  near  Armenia. 
All  agree,  that  to  the  rivers  Euphrates,  Hiddekel, 
Pison  and  Gihon,  we  must  look  alone  for  data,  upon 
which  to  found  a  conclusion  respecting  the  location 
of  Eden.  The  former  of  these,  we  have  alone  selec- 
ted, as  important  to  be  placed  with  the  sacred  rivers 
of  the  Bible.  Not,  but  that  the  others  might  be 
fruitful  of  interest,  but  because  this  alore  bears  a  dis- 
tinctive character  in  the  more  modern  history  of  the 
Bible.  With  the  exception  of  the  Pison,  Avhich 
encompassed  the  laud  of  Havillah,  a   region  aboun- 


7b  EUPHRATES. 

ding  in  gold,  our  conjectures  could  be  but  vague  and 
uncertain.  Yet,  to  me,  the  study  of  this  portion  of 
Scripture  history,  gleaming  with  the  spirit  of  poesy, 
when  fancy  picturing  the  retired  shades  and  airy 
walks  of  Eden ;  canopied  with  trees  ever  verdant, 
from  which  the  evening  vespers  of  innumerable 
birds,  rolling  out  on  the  still  air  their  note  of  praise, 
has  ever  been  delightful.  The  moment  when  the 
infant  mind,  is  directed  to  the  contemplation  of  this, 
the  first  and  most  interesting  locality  of  Bible  his- 
tory ;  the  serene  warmth  of  soul  which  induces  his 
attention,  can  never  be  extinguished  during  after 
years  of  study,  toil  and  care.  Then,  the  young 
mind  realizing  itself  as  introduced  into  the  treasure 
house  of  the  human  heart,  where  divine  love,  defi- 
cient in  the  intoxication  and  raptures  of  a  sensual 
passion,  has  a  counterpoise  in  the  infinity  and  eter- 
nity of  the  Being,  who  is  the  object  of  adoration. 
Alas  !  when  reviewing  the  past,  we  are  all  constrained 
to  admit,  how  many  false  gems  of  affection  have 
fallen  little  by  little  to  us,  accompanied  by  disen- 
chantment and  disgust,  in  place  of  the  wonders  and 
delights  of  that  affection,  then  and  there  existing. 
Even  now,  the  christian  turns  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  brief  history  of  Eden,  with  more  sorrow- 
ful regret  than  would  a  traveller,  who  had  looked  for 


EUFHRATES.  79 

the  last  time  upon  the  uioutitaia.s,  the  turreut:^,  the 
water-falls,  the  ruins  perched  upon  the  rocky  sum- 
mits, or  the  chalets  peeping  from  beneath  the  pine 
and  beach  groves  of  the  Alpine  regions.  Then,  but 
not  now,  our  whole  life  centered  in  the  dreams  of 
childhood,  when  the  enthusiasm  of  our  youth  al- 
lows us  to  wander  amid  scenes  in  intellect  and  nature 
of  ever-variegated  bliss ;  we  are  fully  prepared  to 
enter  into  the  spirit,  and  appreciate  the  beauty  of 
scripture  narratives,  being  freed  from  that  open  de- 
pravity which  brutalizes  the  imagination,  and  is  the 
"parody  of  physical  and  moral  beauty."  Filled 
with  the  most  passionate  admiration  of  the  romantic 
and  wisely  restrained  by  parental  authority  from 
perusing  those  dangerous  and  enchanting  works 
which  inspire  disgust  for  real  life;  with  what  potency 
will  the  more  than  personified  and  ideal  images  of 
scripture  narrative  strike  upon  the  infant  mind. 
Then,  when  enveloped  in  the  shade  of  the  sanctuary, 
our  sports  and  our  friendships  are  forgotten,  in  a 
kind  of  meditative  concentration  of  look  and  fea- 
tures, as  the  scenes  of  Bible  history,  with  their  aU 
ternate  lights  and  shadows,  are  placed  before  us  by 
the  venerable  minister.  And  so  susceptible  is  the 
infant  mind  of  pious  impressions,  that  these  scenes 
will  arrest  the  fancy,  Avith  the  singular  prominenco 


80  EUPHRATES, 

of  an  island  bathed  in  light  emerging  from  the  sea, 
towering  aloft  into  the  blue  heavens,  and  breaking  on 
the  sight  like  the  dream  of  a  poet,  during  the  "sleep 
of  a  summer  night."  We  listen  to  these  instructions 
with  that  species  of  rapture,  as  the  boatman  to  the 
sonorous  drip  of  the  Avater  which  falls  in  measured 
harmony  from  his  oars.  Even  now,  though  steeped 
in  the  crimes  of  adult  years,  the  effort  to  rejuvinate 
our  moral  sensibilities  by  a  recurrence  to  these 
sacred  associations,  would  be  beneficial,  when  the 
gem  of  infant  piety,  viewed  through  the  vista  of 
years,  and  enlivened  by  the  Spirit,  appears  like  a 
floating  spark  upon  the  summit  of  the  waves,  now 
for  the  moment  unseen,  ever  about  to  be  extinguished 
and  then  enkindling  with  greater  lustre.  These  vis- 
ions of  Paradise,  like  the  dew-drop  from  the  flower, 
have  been  shaken  from  the  soul  by  the  winds  of  ad- 
versity, and  the  storm-passion,  but  their  remem- 
brance, like  the  Euphrates  of  Eden,  shall  continue 
a  perpetual  memorial  of  our  bliss. 

This  river  rising  in  the  mountains  of  Arminia, 
running  south-west  and  south-east,  through  the  fron- 
tier of  Capadocia,  Syria,  and  Arabia  Deserta  on  the 
West,  and  Mesapotamia  on  the  East,  passes  through 
Chaldea  or  Babylonia,  and  empties  by  several  out- 
lets into  the  Persian   Gulf.     The  waters  with  which 


EUPHRATES.  81 

it  unites  some  sixty  miles  above  its  mouth,  passes 
out  in  the  same  channel.  If  Poets  forsaking  the 
domain  of  affection,  seek  for  genius  afar  off,  and 
amid  the  inspiring  memories  of  the  past,  where  could 
a  more  sublime  field  be  presented,  than  amid  the  de- 
serted ruins  of  the  country,  through  which  this  river 
winds  its  solitary  way.  Time  quickly  effaces  every 
object,  but  time,  though  destroying  the  traces  of  the 
mighty  cities  which  stood  upon  its  banks,  can  never 
obliterate  the  impressions  their  history  has  made  on 
succeeding  nations.  What  scenes  have  here  been 
enacted!  What  gorgeous  visions  of  empire  and 
glory,  have  rested  like  a  summer  cloud  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  streams,  until  wafted  by  the  winds  of 
heaven,  they  rolled  into  some  distant  mountain  gorge 
to  rest  in  obscurity  and  gloom.  What  sad  hearts, 
captives  of  other  lands  have  gathered  on  its  banks, 
where,  hearing  the  ripple  of  the  waves,  as  they  threw 
a  slight  fringe  of  spray  around  the  rocks,  whilst  ad- 
jacent hills  bathed  in  the  soft  purple  twilight,  seemed 
like  huge  floating  shadows  of  their  own  distant  clime. 
Even  now,  though  ages  intervene,  fancy  pictures  the 
"captive  Jews,"  as  arm  in  arm  they  wend  their  tear- 
ful way,  whilst  their  long  shadows  blended  into  one, 
like  living  shrouds,  track  their  footsteps  before  the 
time.      Saddened   by   the   successive   departure]  of 


82  EUPHRATES. 

friend  after  friend,  under  the  fearful  pressure  of 
unequalled  woe,  driven  from  their  country,  doomed  to 
an  eternal  bereavement  of  the  heart,  and  forsaken 
by  the  world ;  they  sat  them  down  in  sadness,  whilst 
the  throbbing  of  their  bosoms  spoke  but  too  plainly, 
that  the  contact  of  those  warm  hearts  but  dissolved 
the  thoughts  that  froze  within  them,  as  the  dew  of 
night  ever  congeals  on  plants  which  are  most  expo- 
sed. Oppressed  by  former  ingratitude,  overwhelmed 
with  present  calamity,  the  tears  of  penitence  min- 
gled with  the  ardent  supplication,  that  they  might 
once  more  fieast  their  eyes  with  a  look  on  the  heights 
of  Zion,  or  that  the  last  sigh  which  would  efface  from 
their  minds  forever,  the  dark  and  doubtful  future, 
might  die  upon  the  slight  ripple  of  the  closing  wave. 
God  did  not  so  determine.  When  in  other  lands, 
the  broad  Nile  reflected  the  prostrate  form,  and 
echoed  out  on  its  waters  the  wail  of  their  fathers'  woe; 
deliverance  with  an  "high  hand  and  stretched  out 
arm,"  was  wrought  for  them.  So  now,  their  dreams 
and  gestures,  looks  and  words  of  happiness,  which 
were  spoken  with  the  fear  that  the  spring-time  of 
their  deliverance  would  never  bloom,  had  now  come 
up  as  a  "  memorial  before  God."  Bidding  them  turn 
to  the  evening  breeze  to  dry  their  tears,  required 
in  a  voice  like  the  softest  notes,  that  the  speechleg? 


EUrilRATE3.  83 

agony  of  their  hearts  be  forever  forgotten,  and  the 
"remembrance  of  Zion,"  as  the  treasure  of  hope, 
should  evermore  be  cherished.  For  the  time  had 
now  come,  when  the  memory  of  all  they  had  endured, 
like  the  hated  crime  from  which  the  sinner  turns  in 
the  hour  of  deepest  penitence,  would  but  appear  in 
the  past,  as  the  leafless  tree  shown  on  the  dark  back- 
ground of  the  river's  shore.  The  disposition  to 
oppress,  (than  which  no  disposition  so  well  deserves 
the  execration  of  the  wise  and  good,)  now  received 
its  just  and  fearful  rebuke.  Dark  and  fearful  was 
the  night,  when  the  bachanals'  song  and  shout  rang 
through  the  crowded  streets  of  Babylon.  Around 
her  ancient  towers  the  multitudes  reel,  while  the 
infamous  hosanna  to  their  pagan  gods  rolls  out  on 
the  midnight  air,  like  the  loud  roar  of  wave  "impel- 
ling wave."  Like  water  from  the  fountain,  flows 
the  intoxicating  draught,  while  lust  and  revelry 
walked  the  streets  unchecked.  Looking  upon  the 
massive  walls,  which,  while  the  clouds  seemed  to 
rest  on  their  summit,  ten  horsemen  could  securely 
drive  amid  the  ethcrial  mists,  they  feared  not  dan- 
ger, though  surrounded  by  a  besieging  foe.  As  the 
eye  of  the  besieged,  from  some  interior  elevation, 
swept  round  the  circuit  of  the  walls,  fifty  miles  in 

circumference,  and  saw  their  hundred  gates  of  bras.«! 

7* 


84  EUPHRATES. 

flashing  in  the  sunheamis,  and  the  hanging  gardens, 
loaded  with  shrubs,  whilst  sparkling  fountains  leaped 
from  beneath  gayly  decorated  arches,  he  might  weJl 
exclaim,  in  despite  of  the  "captives'"  prayers,  will 
Belshazzer  ^^  exalt  his  throne  amid  the  stars  of 
heaven!  "  At  that  moment,  in  a  retired  hall  of  the 
intoxicated  monarch,  apart  from  the  tumultuous 
crowd,  might  be  seen  princes,  and  nobles,  and  their 
wives,  all  arrayed  as  for  an  occasion  of  mirth.  The 
gay,  the  voluptuous,  and  the  proud  are  there ;  men 
of  high  renown,  and  women  whose  beauty  out-daz- 
zled the  splendor  by  which  they  were  surrounded ; 
whilst  amid  archways  and  corridors,  and  statues,  an 
endless  profusion  of  ornaments  are  exhibited;  all 
which  combine  to  form  a  scene  of  such  dazzling 
splendor,  that  the  spectator  is  bewildered  and  lost 
in  the  midst.  Ever  and  anon  bursts  of  music  came 
swelling  aloft  amid  the  columns,  and  then  died  away 
in  soft  and  lulling  cadences.  From  the  consecrated 
vessels  of  the  Hebrews'  temple,  they  drank  confu- 
sion to  the  God  of  Israel,  and  '■^ praised  their  gods 
of  gold  and  silver,  and  brass  and  stone.'' 

In  the  midst  of  their  revelry  the  music  stopped 
its  joyous  burst,  whilst  the  shriek  of  the  fainting,  or 
the  tumultuous  sigh  of  fear,  reigned  throughout  the 
apartment.      The   sudden   flash   of  an   illuminated 


EUPHRATES.  85 

hand  came  forth  and  wrote  upon  the  plaster  of  the 
wall,  which  when  the  dread  line  was  finished,  the 
quivering  monarch,  letting  fall  the  untasted  goblet, 
gazed  on  the  mystic  finger,  which  seemed  to  say  to 
his  guilty  soul,  "reacZ  thy  doom'' 

Astrologers  vainly  attempted  to  solve  the  myste- 
rious writing.  Then  Daniel,  one  of  the  long  ne- 
glected Hebrew  captives,  being  sent  for,  and  coming 
into  the  king,  with  his  finger  pointed  above  to  the 
God  whom  the  king  had  scorned,  and  looking  stead- 
fastly on  the  palid  monarch,  read  aloud  his  doom, 
written  in  letters  of  fire  on  the  walls  of  his  palace — • 
"God  hath  numbered  thy  kingdom  and  finished  it," 
for  "  thou  art  weighed  in  the  balances,  and  art  found 
wanting.  Thy  kingdom  is  divided  and  given  to  the 
Medes  and  Persians."  We  may  not  repeat  the  tale 
of  woe,  of  carnage,  and  death.  How  that  scarce 
had  the  footsteps  of  the  retiring  prophet  died 
along  the  silent  corridors,  when  the  shout  of  the 
foe  broke,  like  the  sound  of  bursting  billows,  over 
the  city.  How  that  entering  underneath  the  ponde- 
rous gates,  which  closed  over  the  channel  of  the 
Euphrates,  they  were  pouring  in  countless  numbers 
through  the  streets,  to  the  gates  of  the  palace,  where 
the  fragment  of  the  royal  army,  making  their  last, 
desperate  stand,  were  overborne  by  the  might  of 


86  EUPHRATES. 

the  Medean  warrior.  Or  yet,  how  the  king,  throw- 
ing himself  amid  his  guard,  to  make  the  last  brave 
effort  for  his  life  and  his  kingdom,  at  last  vanquished 
and  trampled  under  foot,  expired  in  the  midst  of  his 
dying  followers.  Over  the  sickening  scenes  of  that 
terrible  night  we  would  draw  the  veil  of  oblivion. 
There  are  some  scenes  which,  though  recorded  "for 
our  learning,"  are  yet  of  so  fearful  and  horrifying  a 
nature,  that  they  can  serve  no  purpose  but  to  inspire 
a  disgust  for  the  actors,  and  a  hatred  to  the  princi- 
ples by  which  they  were  inspired.  Of  this  kind  are 
the  events  recorded  as  here  transpiring.  Sin,  wher- 
ever displayed,  whether  by  the  king  on  his  throne, 
or  the  beggar  in  the  dust,  is  to  the  christian  alike 
disgusting.  No  elevation  to  which  men  ordinarily 
attain,  can  secure  them  from  the  reproaches  of  the 
virtuous  and  good;  especially  if  subjected  to  their 
wicked  and  iniquitous  government.  Neither  the  wis- 
dom of  rulers,  the  strength  of  fortifications,  nor  the 
might  of  armies,  are  a  security  against  the  just 
judgments  of  the  Almighty.  Whilst  the  virtuous, 
though  weak  and  defenceless,  are  conscientiously 
secure  against  the  calamities  of  life,  the  wicked,  en- 
vironed with  nought  but  the  work  of  his  hands,  shall 
exclaim  in  the  hour  of  distress — "  Ye  have  taken 
away  my  gods,  and  what  have  T  more?"     From  the 


EUPHRATES.  87 

history  of  the  Jews,  in  connection  with  the  train  of 
providences  by  which  they  were  delivered,  teaches 
that  "  G-od  hath  sworn  ly  two  immutable  things^  in 
the  which  it  was  impossible  for  G-od  to  lie,  ive  might 
have  strong  consolation,  who  have  fted  for  refuge  to 
lay  hold  upon  the  hope  set  before  us." 

We  would  remark  in  confirmation,  that  the  present 
desolation  of  Babylon  was  predicted  by  Isaiah,  two 
hundred  years  before  its  signal  overthrow.  Seeing 
his  people  carried  away  captive,  the  holy  temple 
plundered  of  her  treasures,  the  God  of  his  fathers 
held  in  derision,  his  soul  takes  fire ;  when  looking  to 
the  future,  he  sees  the  day  of  vengeance,  and  by  a 
train  of  poetry  never  equalled,  a  chorus  of  Jews  are 
caused  to  sing  their  astonishment  at  the  overthrow 
of  the  oppressor.  Babylon  has  fallen,  and  her  glory 
gone  forever.  In  a  few  years  a  magnificent  pile  of 
ruins  was  all  that  remained  of  her  former  splendor. 
Her  strong  towers  and  battlements  slowly  crumbled 
back  to  their  original  dust,  and  silence  and  desola- 
tion reigned  where  once  the  hum  of  a  mighty  popu- 
lation had  sounded.  The  dust  of  the  desert  has 
long^since  covered  the  ruins ;  but  neither  time  nor 
the  sirocco  can  divert  from  its  channel  that  river, 
alike  a  memorial  of  Paradise  and  Babylon,  heaven 
and  hell. 


ENHOGEL,  OR  FOUNTAIN  OF  SILOAM. 

Enrogel,  or  Fountain  of  Siloam,  is  one  of  those 
fountains  which,  while  possessing  interest  of  them- 
selves, is  still  more  fruitful  of  sacred  reminisences. 
Setting  aside  conjecture  as  to  its  location,  in  common 
with  the  more  respectable  authorities,  we  suppose  it 
to  have  been  that  pool,  whose  only  waters,  flowing  at 
the  base  of  Mount  Moriah,  gladdened  Jerusalem 
with  its  murmuring  ripple.  The  history  and  remi- 
niscences of  this  sacred  stream  has  been  strangely 
interwoven,  like  a  thread  of  silver,  into  the  garments 
and  ceremonial  of  the  ancient  priesthood.  And 
now,  though  the  top  of  Moriah,  no  longer  crowned 
with  the  white  wall  and  golden  roof  of  the  temple? 
has  been  idolatrously  supplied  by  the  mosque  of  St. 
Omar,  and  the  worship  of  the  Koran ;  still  this  brook, 
babbling  at  the  mountain's  base, runs  free  and  clear, 
as  when 

"Siloa's  brook  did  flow, 
Fast  by  the  oracles  of  God.'" 

In  the  fearful  desolation  of  the  city,  and  the  ruin 
which  ensued  on  the  rejection  of  Him  who  himself 
was  both  the  oracle  and  the  fountain,  this  whispering 
brook,  exhaustless  in  its  flow,  murmured  out  from  its 


ENKOCRI,,  89 

rocky  covering;  the  only  thing  whose  life-breathings 
found  an  echo  amid  the  surrounding  desolation. 
Lulled  by  the  melodious  murmur  of  its  flow,  the 
sound  of  which  seemed  to  contain  treasures  of  love, 
hope  and  melancholy,  touching  the  vandalism  of 
pagan  hearts,  repressed  their  thirst  for  blood.  Its 
sound  was  the  living  lyre  of  nature;  dreamy  as  night, 
brilliant  as  day,  true  as  the  heart,  and  simple  as  the 
untutored  thought — which  rolling  out  on  the  ear  of 
the  victor,  repressed  the  work  of  destruction,  and 
charmed  away  the  serpent-like  nature  of  his  soul. 
Looking  back  to  the  period  when  Jerusalem,  "encom- 
passed" by  a  victorious  foe,  was  doomed  to  destruc- 
tion, we  wonder  why  even  heathen  hearts  did  not 
relent  in  the  work  of  indescriminate  carnage — why 
their  vague  dreams  of  shining  exploits,  of  stirring 
destiny,  of  captor  sti-iving  with  captive,  and  then 
rising  in  strength  and  power,  as  the  besieged  lie 
dead  at  his  feet,  were  not  relented  at  the  sight  of  so 
much  sorrow.  But  then  God  hath  reserved  influences 
which  can  melt  the  heart,  when  the  sight  of  blood 
and  death  leave  us  in  a  state  of  brutality  and  stupor. 
The  lulling  sound  of  the  summer  wave,  striking  in 
long  and  distant  measures  on  the  shore,  the  murmur- 
ing winds  of  autumn,  sighing  through  the  trees,  or 
the   still,  soft  ripple   of  the   fountain,   are  at  times 


90  ENROUEL. 

sufficient  tu  revive  the  memory  of  better  and  purer 
days,  and  to  repress  the  work  of  death.  Nature's 
eloquence  is  not  ordinarily  addressed  to  reason,  as 
the  faculty  which  is  to  enlighten  and  disperse  myS- 
teries;  but  striking  upon  the  heart,  leads  us  to 
communion  with  God,  whose  presence  amid  his  works, 
like  the  fanning  of  gentle  zephyrs,  stirs  the  inmost 
fibre  of  our  souls.  He  wills  that  the  majestic  soli- 
tude, which,  peopling  with  spirit  forms  and  voices, 
shall,  like  the  flow  of  "'Siloa's  brook,"  sound  a  living 
murmur,  which  will  aid  in  subduing  the  unloved 
propensities  of  our  nature,  and  whilst  surprising  us 
by  the  pleasing  change,  loaves  us  to  wonder  in  the 
silence  of  nature,  at  the  light  and  life  he  has  shed 
upon  our  souls.  From  which  we  infer,  that  the 
breath  of  love  and  prayer  is  ordained  to  flow  out 
from  His  wondrous  works,  to  be  continually  inspired 
and  heard,  that  man  by  listening  to  their  voice, 
should  be  constantly  subdued  in  love,  and  by  their 
teaching  participate  in  the  ordering  of  his  own  des- 
tiny. Fountains  in  the  East  are  well  nigh  as  immu- 
table as  mountains.  To  them  the  inhabitants  repair, 
as  well  from  motives  of  necessity  as  piety;  whilst 
modern  travellers  repair  to  them,  at  the  season  when 
the  villagers  coming  to  procure  water,  exhibit  most 
pleasingly  their  personal  peculiarities  of  dress  an(} 


ENKOGUL.  91 

manners.  Not  uufrequently,  us  in  uur  cliurches, 
they  can  accurately  determine,  by  the  modesty  of 
demeanor,  the  strength  of  piety  in  those  who  come 
to  procure  water.  At  times  this  inspection  is  as 
satisfactory  and  pleasing  as  that  of  the  servant  of 
Abraham,  who  meeting  the  modest  and  courteous 
Rebecca  at  the  well,  was  immediately  enamored 
of  that  beauty,  which  founded  his  solicitation  for 
her  union  with  his  master.  It  was  also  at  a  Avell 
the  Savior  conversed  with  and  estimated  the  charac- 
ter of  the  "woman  of  Samaria,"  and  where  meeting 
so  wise  and  distinguished  a  stranger,  she  was  made 
happily  instrumental  in  bearing  the  tidings  of  the 
Redeemer's  mission  and  presence  to  her  neighbors. 
Whether  we  would  approach  any  of  these  aacred 
fountains  in  the  hope  of  beholding  some  distinguished 
visiter,  or  a  poor  damsel  lamenting  over  the  frag- 
ments of  her  jar,  broken  in  the  frequent  scuffle  to 
procure  water,  we  should  feel  on  our  return,  the 
trouble  and  toil  of  the  visit  amply  repaid  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  increasing  stock  of  wisdom.  The 
memory   oi  thebright,  sunny  days   of  youth,    when 

"  Beside  the  brook, 
With  OHO  sweet  sister,  and  my  all  on  earllj, 
A  gleelul  boy,  our  changeful  course  we  took, 
And  woke  the  echos  of  the  hills  wiih  mirth," 

Would  again  be  ours,  should  more  sacred  associations 

8 


92  ENROUEL. 

not  disturb  the  natural  revery.  But  to  the  Jew, 
what  holy  recollections,  what  saddening  reflections, 
are  awakened  at  the  sight  of  this  fountain,  as  it 
bubbles  up  from  the  base  of  the  mountain  on  which 
stood  the  temple,  the  home  of  his  fathers'  hearts, 
and  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  nation.  The  holy 
lessons  learned  by  him,  as  in  imagination  he  sat 
within  its  consecrated  walls,  could  never  be  forgotten, 
though  the  light  which  cnce  shone  on  Salem's 
temple  tower,  falls  but  faintly  and  sadly  where 
"mockery  sits"  on  sacred  ground.  To  us  there  can 
be  no  place  more  sacred  in  our  recollections,  than 
the  church  where  our  first  religious  impressions  were 
made  and  strengthened;  which,  though  it  rise  not 
in  stately  grandeur,  in  the  midst  of  a  populous  town 
or  city,  yet  points  its  spire  heavenward,  from  the 
trees  that  hold  their  strife  with  the  mountain  storm. 
There  the  wholesome  instruction  and  pious  counsel, 
received  in  communion  with  hearts  unaccustomed  to 
religious  sophistries  and  hollow  pretensions,  shall 
not  be  forgotten ;  but  visiting  us  in  trial  and  in  sor- 
row, with  a  chastening  and  holy  influence,  will  impart 
super-human  fortitude  and  heavenly  consolation. 
From  whose  consecrated  walls  there  ever  seemed  to 
ascend  the  fervent  prayer,  the  sweet  song,  and  swel- 
ling anthem,  moving  the  soul  in  its  hidden  depths, 


ENROGEL.  93 

and  bidding  it  give  answer  to  the  mysterious  impul- 
ses within  and  around  it.  Yet  how  much  more  vivid 
and  intense  the  memory,  the  love,  the  ancient  Israelite 
bore  for  the  temple  and  its  splendid  and  incompara- 
ble service !  Then,  too,  when  we  look  back  to  that 
spiritual  Siloam,  that  sacred  fountain,  whichjpoured 
its  healthful  stream  around  the  altar  of  our  infant 
memories,  we  seem  to  feel  that  our  spiritual  blessings 
in  the  past,  have  been  so  wonderfully  real,  as  to  have 
accumulated  others  for  the  present.  Not  so  the  Jew; 
for  him  the  visions  of  national  glory,  with  the  day- 
beams  of  his  devotion,  converging  in  the  temple, 
have  long  since  gone  out ;  and  the  evening  shadows, 
with  their  sombre  faces,  close  round  the  land  of  his 
ancient  joy.  True,  we  hope  the  deep  thunder-clouds 
of  God's  vengeance,  having  exhausted  their  treas. 
ured  desolation,  will  now  roll  away  into  the  distance, 
and  send  back  their  farewell  signs  in  successive  play- 
ful, hopeful  flashes,  which  being  less  vivid,  will  give 
promise,  as  they  expire,  in  trembling,  effluent  beauty, 
that  the  "outcasts"  of  Isael  may  again  return  to 
their  worship,  and  to  that  land  of  beauty  und  gran- 
deur, where  nature  speaks  with  her  strong  voice  lifted 
high,  declaring  the  works  and  wonders  of  the  crea- 
tor of  all.  Hitherto  there  appears  to  have  been 
reserved  to  the  Israelite,  nothing  but  a  succession  of 


94  ENROGEL. 

sentiments,  vain  regrets,  hallowed  recollections,  ideal 
enjoyments,  hopes  and  despondency,  until  deeply 
obscured  in  the  valley  of  shadows,  he  was  seen  no 
more  on  earth.  For  them  we  constantly  supplicate 
the  aversion  of  God's  vengeance,  and  would  fain 
pray  that  their  future  condition  may  be  as  peaceful 
and  prosperous,  as  their  former  was  grievous.  Sym- 
pathizing as  we  do,  with  the  wandering  children  of 
Jacob,  as  christians,  we  can  but  humbly  hope  they 
may  soon  have  a  national  convocation  around  the 
heights  of  Zion,  and  hear  again,  as  they  recline  at 
eventide  on  the  slopes  of  Moriah,  the  murmuring 
ripple  of  the  fount  of  Siloam,  gushing  out,  clear  and 
free,  and  beautiful  as  ever. 

And  when  its  waters  gushing  forth,  shall  but 
image  that  stream  of  gratitude  and  piety,  which 
springing  forth  from  the  hearts  of  a  redeemed  people, 
shall  be  the  instantaneous  and  solitary  expression  of 
their  love ;  then  Mount  Moriah,  like  a  promontory 
of  love,  combining  with  the  shade  of  the  valley,  the 
sacred  silence  of  which  will  leave  the  ear  of  the 
worshippers  undisturbed  by  the  sounds  of  earth,  will 
be  consecrated  without  priest  or  temple,  as  a  spot 
from  which  redeemed  spirits  can  wing  their  way  to 
the  horizon  of  a  brighter  world.  Where,  too,  their 
children's  children,  having  crossed  the  threshold  of 


ENROGEL.  95 

Canaan  with  gladness  and  joy,  will  feel  that  gracious 
spirits  linger  over  the  mountain  heights;  that  hal- 
lowed associations  cluster  around  it ;  that  here  intel- 
lectual, political  and  moral  freedom,  finding  an 
abiding  place  in  the  past,  will  send  out  their  holy 
influences,  to  live  forever  in  the  future.  A  church 
was  formerly  erected  over  this  pool,  but  it  has  now 
gone  to  ruin.  A  number  of  rude  huts  appear  to 
hang  on  its  rocky  covering,  behind  which  are  sepul- 
chral chambers,  all  forming  the  wretched  abode  of 
miserable  Arabs.  The  living  have  cast  out  the  dead, 
and  in  the  sacrilegious  occupation  of  these  huts  and 
tombs,  have  sought  to  perpetuate  an  immortality  of 
wretchedness,  by  giving  this  miserable  collection  of 
tenements  the  enduring  name  of  the  pool  which 
bursts  forth  in  their  midst.  Many  are  its  associated 
scenes,  from  which  much  moral  instruction  may  be 
obtained.  The  "eighteen"  souls  upon  whom  the 
"tower  inSiloam  fell,"  of  which  mention  is  made 
by  the  Savior,  and  the  moral  instruction  derived 
therefrom,  should  ever  be  impressed  upon  our  minds 
Though  they  were  sinners,  we  also,  bearing  the  same 
character,  must  expect  a  like  punishment.  And 
had  we  been  dealt  with  according  to  our  sins,  accord- 
ing to  the  iniquity  of  our  holy  things,  our  blood  had 

long  ere  this  been  mingled  with  our  offerings.     These 

8* 


96  ENROGEL. 

judgments,  and  others,  should  loudly  call  upon  us  to 
repent,  as  the  only  way  to  escape  perishing ;  and  so 
^^  iniquity  shall  not  be  our  ruin."  But  the  pool  and 
the  temple,  associated  in  the  history  of  Israel,  gives 
it  sacred  prominence.  While  ever  a  Jew  shall  turn 
with  longing,  toward  his  beloved  temple,  to  "rest" 
with  his  fathers  on  the  declivity  of  Moriah,  this 
pool  will  be  remembered. 


FOUNTAIN  OF  ELISHA, 


One  day  while  visiting  the  house  of  a  friend,  in  a 
most  beautiful  country  neighborhood,  wearied  with 
the  confinement  of  the  house,  I  took  my  Bible  from 
my  port-manteau,  and  strolled  out  alone  to  enjoy  the 
delightful  scenery  of  his  valley  home.  Wending  my 
way  amid  sweet  odors,  and  far  oif  sounds,  which  came 
mingling  with  the  breeze  which  breathed  gently 
around  me,  I  hastened  to  the  border  of  the  remnant 
of  a  wide  old  wood,  where  was  presented  to  the  eye 
a  scene  of  exquisite  beauty.  Underneath  the  spread- 
ing branches  of  a  large  tree,  and  opening  out  upon 
a  rich  tract  of  cultivated  country,  lay  a  little  spot  of 
mossy  and  carpet-like  verdure. 

A  low  bank  of  earth  spread  with  the  same  delicate 
covering,  rested  against  its  huge  base.  Flowering 
vines  trailed  to  the  ground  from  the  intermingling 
boughs  of  neighboring  trees,  and  with  their  lighter 
and  more  graceful  trunks,  formed  long  avenues, 
leading  away  into  the  depths  of  the  woodland,  till 
the  eye  was  lost  in  the  dimness.  Before  it,  rolled  on 
a  shining  river,  and  within  the  view  were  distant;^ 
mountains,  green  fields,  groves  of  trees,  rural  homes, 


98  FOUNTAIN    OF    ELISHA. 

and  the  confines  of  a  beautiful  village.  All  nature 
appeared  new  and  beautiful,  whilst  the  sudden 
transition  from  the  bustle  and  conversation  of  the 
mansion,  seemed  to  rob  me  of  the  power  of  expres- 
sion, and  I  remained  passive  and  silent.  Yet,  whilst 
gazing  on  trees  of  singular  foliage,  and  flowers  of 
new  hues,  or  upon  the  same  kind  and  hue.  to  which  I 
was  accustomed.  I  seemed  irresistably  led  back  to 
the  days  of  happiness  and  hope.  How  delightedly  I 
traced  the  windings  of  the  stream,  till  distance,  or 
some  intervening  object,  hid  it  from  my  view.  How 
eagerly  my  eyes  ran  up  to  the  summit  of  the  hill; 
how  familiarly  it  peered  into  the  thicket !  how  my 
heart  thrilled  at  the  ripple  of  the  wave,  and  echoed 
back  the  song  of  the  bird  !  The  sun  had  sunk  be- 
hind the  shadow  of  the  foliage  at  the  western  point 
of  the  landscape,  and  as  I  sat  down  by  the  trunk  of 
an  old  tree,  with  .the  open  Bible  in  my  hand,  a  single 
gleam  struggled  through  and  glanced  horizontally 
upon  the  open  page  of  the  Holy  Word.  There 
might  have  been  a  revelation  in  that  ray,  for  it  fell 
gently  on  the  page,  which  speaks  of  the  waters  in 
the  fountain  of  Elisha,  becoming  ^^naugJit  and  the 
ground  barren.''  We  are  certain,  never  did  a  verse 
of  Holy  writ,  look  so  beautiful,  as  when  the  flicker- 
ing sun  ray  trembled  on  the  page-     We  would  not 


FOUNTAIN    OF    ELISHA.  99 

wish  to  awaken  superstition,  or  an  unhealthy  senti- 
mentality, which  would  darken  beauty  by  the  shadow 
of  its  smiles.  In  referring  to  this  incident,  we  would 
but  wish  to  express,  there  is  nothing  insignificant  in 
all  the  universe,  to  him  who  has  faith  in  the  work 
and  wisdom  of  God.  The  slightest  incident,  if  the 
heart  pulsates,  'neath  the  breathing  of  the  spirit, 
may  be  changed  into  a  minister  of  wisdom,  mercy, 
and  reconciliation.  All  will  aid  us  in  visiting  the 
past,  in  endeavoring  to  penetrate  that  which  has  been 
produced  ;  what  tributes  have  imparted  to  the  stream 
that  run  clear  or  turbid  ?  what  is  now  pouring  into 
them,  and  what  their  course  will  probably  be.  Poetry 
and  the  beautiful  is  not  the  only  language  used  by 
these  occasional,  though  mysterious  beamings  of  the 
sun.  They  speak  in  words  of  lofty  meaning ;  when 
the  heart  appears  even  broken,  by  the  fierce  contest 
of  the  heavenly  with  the  earthly,  but  like  the  smile 
of  Jesus  at  the  opened  sepulchre,  shine  like  a  holy 
light  burning  clear  and  pure.  These  are  prophecies 
which  we  ought  not  to  mistake  for  dreams,  and  crea- 
tions, which,  while  they  please,  are  at  least  more 
serviceable,  than  the  gem  islands  thought  to  have 
been  found,  which  when  examined  by  the  navigatior, 
are  seen  to  be  but  clouds  and  mists,  suspended  by 
t.hf>  winds  and  painted  by  th^  sun  beams.     Inatten- 


lOO  FOUNTAIN    OF    ELISHA. 

tion  to  passing  events,  which  while  it  shows  us  to  he 
blind  to  the  beautiful  hand-writing  of  God  all  around 
us,  prevents  our  hearing  but  few  strains  of  Nature's 
everlasting  hymn,  that  blends  in  harmony  all  sounds 
from  the  breathing  of  the  growing  flower,  to  the 
rushing  and  wheeling  of  stupendous  worlds.  As  we 
wake  from  this  criminal  indifference,  we  look  with  a 
clearer  vision  upon  all  the  works  of  God,  as  they 
rise  from  simplicity  to  sublimity.  Thus,  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  page  on  which  the  sun  beam  lin- 
gered, the  natural  ray,  as  if  having  the  power  to 
attract,  drew  spiritual  instruction  from  the  familiar 
chapter,  and  awakened  a  lively  sense  of  that  never 
failing  spell,  which  opening  the  human  heart,  unfolds 
its  infinite  treasures,  and  reveals  the  actual  of  our 
affections.  The  brilliant  radiance  of  the  ascension 
of  Elijah,  falling  with  his  mantle  upon  the  shoulders 
of  his  successor,  animated  him  with  a  new  being, 
and  while  inspiring  reverence  taught  the  sons  of  the 
prophets  to  exclaim,  "the  spirit  of  Elijah  doth  rest 
on  Eiisha."  The  city  of  Jericho  was  pleasant,  but 
the  water  was  scarce  and  the  ground  poor  ;  two  cir- 
cumstances which  would  have  forever  retarded  its 
growth.  The  impatient  inhabitants,  ambitious  per- 
haps, to  rival  other  places,  in  wealth  and  importance, 
solicited  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Seer  to  resuscitate  the  | 


FOUNTAIN    Of    EI.ISHA.  101 

waters.  For  the  promotion  of  the  Divine  honor,  and 
to  inspire  respect  for  the  power  and  authority  of 
Him,  who  not  only  bestows,  but  sanctifies  mercies 
already  received;  the  Prophet,  connecting  a  natu- 
ral agent,  with  the  communication  of  Divine  power, 
healed  the  waters.  Reading  this  event,  under  the 
circumstances  before  described,  I  seemed  instinctively 
to  cast  my  eyes  around  for  the  site  of  the  city  which 
stood  hard  by  the  fountain,  whose  walls  fell  down  at 
the  shout  of  Israel,  and  where  was  afterward  a  school 
of  the  prophets,  which  our  Lord  repeatedly  honored 
with  his  presence.  It  is  probable,  the  more  modern 
city  of  the  Romans,  the  one  not  encompassed  by  the 
Israelites,  was  built  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  distant 
from  the  fountain,  as  would  seem  to  be  indicated  by 
the  ruins  of  acqueducts,  which  still  remain.  But 
even  these  are  so  scarce,  as  will  not  admit  of  a  satis- 
factory conjecture,  as  to  the  precise  location  of  the 
ancient  city.  Having  been  employed  or  removed  in 
the  successive  reconstruction  of  the  city  out  of  the 
former  ruins,  thus  mutilating,  reducing  and  trans- 
porting them.  "Satisfied,"  says  Dr.  Durbin  "with 
the  rapid  survey  of  the  scene  before  us,  Ave  descend- 
ed the  mountain,  bore  north-east  across  the  plains, 
and  in  forty  minutes  pitched  our  tents  on  the  edge 
of  the  flourishing  forest  of  small   trees    and  shrubs 


102  FOUN'IAIN     l)F     ELISHA- 

close  by  the  clear  and  rapid  stream  of  Ain  es  Sultan, 
or  fountain  of  Elisha,  which  boiled  up  from  the  lime- 
stone rocks,  two  hundred  yards  above  us.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  copious  springs  I  have  ever  seen, 
supplying  volumes  of  sweet  water,  which  runs  off 
through  the  plain,  at  first  in  a  stream  twenty  feet 
wide,  and  from  eighteen  inches  to  two  feet  deep,  and 
afterwards  divides  into  many  little  rivulets,  which 
irrigate  and  fertilize  only  a  small  portion  of  the 
vast  plain." 

But  that  which  we  most  desire  to  see,  in  an  excur- 
sion to  this  fountain,  that  which  invests  it  with  sacred 
importance,  the  "School  of  the  Prophets,"  the  un- 
pretending nursery  of  learning  and  piety,  in  which 
were  trained  the  successive  prophets  of  Israel,  who 
more  than  writing  their  names  on  "fields  of  air," 

'•Trod  on  the  chambers  of  the  sky; 

E'en  read  the  stars,  and  grasped  the  flame, 

That  quivers  round  the  Throne  on  high," 

Now  no  more  greets  the  expectant  gaze.  But  why 
lament,  when  departed  greatness,  the  illumination  of 
genius,  and  the  ardor  of  piety,  withers  and  dies  ? 
"  The  prophets,  do  they  live  forever?"  "Your  fath- 
ers, where  are  they?"  They  are  gone!  Their 
virtues  but  faintly  gleaming  in  the  dim  twilight  of  a 
sinful  world,  have  accompanied  the  celestial  charriot, 
and  shone   with    increasing   brilliancv  as    it    rolled 


FOUNTAIN    Ol      ELISIIA.  103 

higher  and  higher  amid  the  concave  heavens.     Their 

memory,  like  that  of  Elijah  and  Elisha,  shall  never 

die.     "They  rest  from  their  labors,  and  their  works 

do   follow   them."     For   he    ^ho,  like  Elisba,  casts 

salt  into  the  waters,  becomes  a  savor  of  grace  to  the 

hearts  of  men,  shall  be  kept  in  perpetual    i-i  mem- 

brance  by  the  works  he  hath  wrought.     Their  woi'k 

shall  endure  forever.     Reverent  were  the  seers  of 

the  olden  Jewish  time,  as  they  looked  upon  the  stsi^s, 

and  read  lessons  of  hope  and  fear  from  the  mystic 

character   of  the   illuminated    page.     Their   mouth 

was  the  oracle,  and  men  marvelled  as  they  h?ard  its 

utterances.     Let  us,  however,  remember  whilst  we 

behold  the  woods  and  the  fountains,  the  depths  of  the 

ocean  and   the  realms  of  air,  wrought  into  seeming 

life   by  the  beauty  and  grace  of  the  Divine  Spirit, 

our  admiration  of  them  is  another  feeling  than  that 

of  worship  for  the  true  God,  with  the  children  of  the 

Patriarchs  in  the  prophetic  rites  of  the  law,    or  of 

Christianity,  which   descending   from   heaven,  made 

luminous  the  path  of  christian  duty. 
9 


FOUNTAIN  OF  THE  APOSTLES. 


There  is  but  one  thing  which  discourages  the 
traveller  in  visiting  the  scenes  of  our  Savior's  pres- 
ence and  ministry.  This  is  the  doubt  and  mystery 
in  which  the  precise  location  of  these  places  is  obscu- 
red ;  often,  when  his  judgment  and  history  would  fix 
to  his  own  satisfaction  the  location  of  some  sacred 
spot,  an  officious  and  unclerical  looking  ecclesiastic, 
will  confidently  determine  the  object  of  our  search, 
and  evince  surprise  at  our  want  of  devotion,  as 
though  we  ought  to  venerate  that  which  we  believe 
to  be  fiction.  This  but  teaches  us  anew,  that  even 
the  spirit  of  enquiry,  has  many  departments  to  con. 
suit,  and  can  only  be  guided  by  science  and  history, 
in  exploring  that  which  is  purely  ideal.  For  then 
only,  we  shall  perceive  the  capability  of  facts  to  set 
aside,  and  even  transcend  fictions  in  the  matter  of. 
gratifying  wonder,  or  indulging  the  passion  for  the 
grand  and  the  sublime.  Fact  is  more  wonderful, 
more  satisfying  than  fiction.  As  what  God  has  pro- 
duced, is  far  more  grand  than  what  man  can  invent. 
Marvels  before  which  we  stand  appalled,  which  make 
us  feel  our  littleness,  and  yet  exalt  us,  by   drawing 


FOUNTAIN     OF    THE     APOSTLES.  105 

upon  and  increasing  the  mightiest  energies  of  thought, 
lifting  up  our  whole  being,  as  we  realize  the  posses- 
sion of  those  capacities  ty  which  we  circle  worlds, 
comprehend  the  motions  of  systems,  and  the  charac- 
ter of  Him  whom  we  confess  and  adore  is  the  work 
of  truth,  and  not  of  fiction. 

The  study  of  truth  has  driven  superstition  from 
her  thrones,  and  triumphantly  answered  her  mythol- 
logical  books  ot  magic  power.  Whilst  the  ideal 
must  be  confessed,  and  her  beauty  be  admired,  as  in- 
vested in  gorgeous  robes  of  splendor,  she  walks 
.abroad,  enshrouded  in  mystery,  until  the  music  of 
her  enchanting  tales  and  songs  vibrate  in  the  breast 
and  fills  the  soul  with  terror  and  ecstacy.  Yet,  truth 
is  that  which  can  make  all  bright,  and  whilst  awaken- 
ing us  to  the  realization  of  beauty  and  bloom  around 
us,  gives  an  eternal  reality  to  that  existence  which 
unfolds  an  eternity  in  the  bosom  of  hope.  The 
province  of  superstition  and  imagination,  is  to  con- 
ceal truth,  to  reveal  which,  makes  the  latter  powerful 
in  its  loftiest  elevations,  as  the  shadow  of  the  oak  is 
more  majestic,  as  the  tree  towers  to  the  heavens  and 
spreads  out  its  branches.  This  is  that  which  shows 
why  a  soul  is  more  precious  than  a  retinue  of  worlds, 
and  as  preached  by  Christ  and  his  Apostles,  exhibi- 
ted the  plan  of  our  redemption,  and  dissolved  the 


106  FOUNTAIN    OF    THE     APOSTLES. 

vapory  falsehoods  that  had  hidden  man's  highest 
glory.  To  know  as  God  knoAvs,  to  love  as  he  loves, 
is  the  effect  of  Christianity,  which  is  the  great  initi- 
ator in  the  paths  of  truth.  As  "truth  is  the  view 
which  God  takes  of  things,"  and  imparts  to  our 
vision,  abiding  strength,  so,  to  look  as  he  looks,  is  to 
behold  beauty,  grandeur  and  glory,  transcending 
romance,  and  eclipsing  all  fiction.  As  Christ  and 
his  Apostles  stood  among  men,  and  amid  the  show  of 
their  age,  spake  with  •authority,  the  authority  of 
truth,  equity  and  love  ;  felt  and  acted  in  all  the  rela- 
tions of  life,  it  becomes  our  imperative  duty  to  listen 
to  their  instructions.  Receiving  their  teachings,  and 
transformed  by  their  doctrine,  we  shall  find  to  what- 
ever part  of  the  universe  we  turn,  the  light  of  truth 
will  shine,  and  reveal  what  He  has  written  in  char- 
acters of  love.  It  will  show  us  beauty  everywhere. 
It  will  make  a  rainbow  of  even  human  tears,  and 
throw  a  smile  on  the  stern  features  of  death.  Thus, 
the  Apostles  at  the  beginning,  and  the  faithful 
preacher  now,  are  needed,  to  aid  humanity  as  it 
grapples  grimly  and  doubtfully,  with  the  falsehood 
of  life.  We  need  them,  to  rise,  and  preach,  and 
sing,  and  toil,  to  show  us  the  truth,  to  strip  off  th 
cerements  of  error,  to  call  us  to  duty,  to  er.courage 
our  hopes,  to  deliver  us  from  our  wrongs,  to  nerve  us 


FOUNTAIN    OF     THK     APOSTLES.  J  07 

to  our  labor,  and  to  the  accomplishment  of  our  des- 
tiny. Truth  is  ever  needed,  which,  whether  to  direct 
us  in  the  search  of  a  "sacred  fountain,"  or  of  the 
"well-spring"  of  eternal  joy,  comes  in  such  warm 
sweet,  and  stirring  accents,  as  cheers  the  desolat3 
and  mourning,  and  breathes  upon  the  ear  of  sympa- 
thy, the  Avhisperings  of  unchanging  complacency. 

Returning  from  this  seeming  digression,  we  may 
remark,  that  the  fountain  at  which  the  Apostles, 
the  ^nt^//-bearing  messengers  of  Jesus  refreshed 
themselves,  is  by  the  road  side,  near  the  ancient 
village  of  Bethany,  and  in  sight  of  which  is  shown 
the  residence  of  the  redeemed  and  grateful  Mary 
Magdalene.  The  location  of  this  fountain,  near 
Bethany,  is  of  itself,  sufficient  to  impart  interest  to 
the  place,  and  make  it  even  unseen  to  us,  a  most 
sacred  memorial,  sweet  in  leed  are  the  associations 
which  cluster  around  the  village  and  fountdn.  Mary 
Magdalene  and  the  Apostles,  Lazarus  and  "the 
sisters,"  Christ  and  the  power  of  his  weeping,  come 
up  to  our  recollections,  and  whilst  inspiring  love  for 
their  memory,  teaches  us,  as  we  gaze  upon  the  spark- 
ling fountain  which  laves  at  our  feet,  to  look  Avith  a 
hriglit  philosophy  on  the  Providences  of  Heaven. 
From  the  vicinity  of  this  fountain,  the  excited  mul- 
titude   accompanied   the    Savior ;  "spreading   their 


108  FOUNTAIN    OF    THE    APOSTLES. 

garments"  in  the  way,  ^vhilst  songs,  rejoicings  and 
hosannalis  made  the  hills  and  olive  groves  re-echo 
with  their  mighty  voices.  The  road  from  Jerusalem 
winding  around  the  base  of  the  hill  to  the  East,  and 
running  near  the  fountain,  is  still  shown,  as  that  on 
which  the  Saviour  trod  at  sunset,  on  his  way  from 
Jerusalem,  to  rest  with  his  friends  at  Bethany  ;  and 
in  the  morning  on  his  return  to  warn  and  instruct 
the  devoted  city.  Near  this,  was  the  grave,  at  which 
"Mary  and  Martha"  wept  for  a  departed  brother, 
subsequently  raised  by  the  power  of  Jesus,  and  here 
delivering  his  last  commission  to  his  disciples,  the 
Redeemer,  wrapped  in  the  thin  drapery  of  a  cloud, 
and  attended  by  a  convoy  of  angels,  passed  away 
into  his  natal  heaven.  The  Divine  visitation  has 
faljen  as  heavily  on  Bethany  as  on  Jerusalem.  "The 
soil  is  swept  from  the  hills  around  her,  once  clad  in 
verdure,  but  now  rock  paved  and  desolate  ;  and  the 
pleasant  villages  of  Bethpage  and  Bethany  have 
dwindled  into  a  miserable  hamlet,  of  some  twenty 
stone  huts,  and  a  few  black  tents,  inhabited  by  as 
many  families  ui'  suurtliy  Arabs,  who  flock  around 
you,  and  urge  you  to  drink  water  from  their  coarse 
earthen  jars,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  money,  which 
they  indeed  demand  before  the  refreshing  draught 
blesses  your  lips."  (Dr.  Durbin.)     Few  things  remain 


FOUNTAIN  OF  JEZREEL.         109 

unchanged;  the  form  of  the  everlasting  hills,  the 
fountain  of  the  Apostles,  and  the  generous  and  ben- 
ificient  olive-tree,  which  has  adorned  the  hill-side 
from  time  immemorial. 


FOUNTAIN  OF  JEZREEL. 


The  accession,  reign,  and  decease  of  a  monarch, 
are  deemed  to  be  events  of  great  importance,  and 
worthy  of  serious  attention.  Liberal  as  are  the 
sentiments  of  those  who,  reared  to  respect  a  popular 
government,  have  no  sympathy  with  aristocratic 
orders,  still  such  a  circumstance,  affecting,  as  it  often 
does,  the  political  destiny  of  a  nation,  can  but  be  im- 
portant. Under  whatever  form  a  state  is  controlled, 
that  government,  whilst  sustained,  however  obnox- 
ious, is  the  only  "support"  and  "ornament  of 
virtue's  cause."  Despite  the  opinion  of  him  who, 
to  gratify  an  unhallowed  ambition,  advocated  agra- 
rianism,  the  people,  in  olden  time,  looked  upon  the 
governor  as  coming  from  God,  and  him  as  guilty  of 
the    greatest    ciiiuo,  who   would    make    use   of  the 


LIO         FOUNTAIN  OF  JEZREEL. 

natural  power  of  the  people,  for  the  purpose  of 
destruction  and  convulsion.  And  to  them,  none 
were  to  be  so  much  pitied,  as  they  who  supposed 
themselves  capable,  by  the  tricks  of  an  empty  and 
vain  politics,  of  leading  the  people  entirely  according 
to  their  OAvn  selfish  purposes  and  desires.  With  no 
nation  was  this  feeling  more  fully  developed  than 
that  of  Israel.  Born  the  natural  inheritors  of  a 
clime,  than  which  sun  never  shone  on  any  more 
brightly,  nor  fruits  grew  with  such  exuberance,  they 
were  little  inclined  to  sympathize  with  any  move- 
ment, having  a  tendency  to  interrupt  the  harmony 
of  such  delicious  quietude.  With  them  the  element 
of  revolution  could  not  be  found.  The  novelty  of 
change  was  supposed  not  to  compensate  for  the  bles- 
sing of  established  rule.  Whilst  under  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Judges,  they  may  have  occasionally 
forgotten  the  meaning  of  those  revelations  which 
gleamed  on  the  mystic  and  oracular  jewelry  of  the 
High  Priest's  breast-plate.  Yet  all  that  was  hal- 
lowed in  religion,  sacred  in  memory,  or  powerful  in 
dignity,  was  afterwards  supposed  to  centre  in,  and 
emanate  from  him,  on  whose  head  had  been  poured 
the  oil  of  anointing.  In  politics  and  literature, 
other  nations  appear  to  have  been  governed  by  that 
strange  passion  which  leads  us  to  fasten  upon  every 


FOUNTAIN  OF  JEZREEL.         ill 

new  and  great  addition  to  our  inheritance ;  as  if  that 
alone  were  more  worthy  of  attention  than  the  whole 
of  our  former  possessions ;  or  pursuing  these  with 
restless  avidity,  forget  in  their  admiration  everything 
beside,  and  become  blind  to  all  but  one  point.  Yet 
sad  experience  has  taught  them,  when  the  ferment 
of  extravagance  subsided,  and  things  at  last  found 
their  level,  that  imperfections  and  tyranny  in  gov- 
ernmental rule,  when  without  attempting  to  conceal 
the  fact,  new  things  took  their  place  among  the  old. 
The  Jew's  heart  taught  him,  he  owed  the  perfec- 
tion of  his  virtues,  and  the  purity  of  his  loveliness, 
to  the  knowledge  received  from  the  light  of  his 
nation's  sanctuary  and  laws.  It  was  as  the  mingling 
of  the  realities  and  dreams  of  life  together.  It  was 
a  blending  of  the  rural  melodies  of  home,  with  the 
heart  and  joy  of  the  nation.  The  power  to  charm, 
to  soothe  and  to  satisfy,  like  gems  and  flowers  which 
reflect  the  light  of  a  spring  landscape,  seemed  only 
to  come  from  the  mysterious  union  of  the  spiritual 
sense  with  the  material  power  of  the  nation.  The 
patriotism  of  the  Jew  was  a  sweet  and  pure  philoso- 
phy, which,  separated  from  all  that  was  false,  was 
made  applicable  to  the  purposes  of  life,  and  practi- 
cal by  its  active  energies.  It  was  a  kind  of  invisible 
chain,  which,  while  it  bound  him  to  earth,  ascended 


112  FOUNTAIN  OF    JEZREEL. 

up  to  the  immaculate  and  eternal,  permitting  him  to 
enjoy  dreams  of  happiness,  pure  as  the  moon-lit 
palace  of  the  frost-king,  and  rich  as  the  cloud- 
wrought  drapery  of  the  summer  sunset  of  his  lovely 
clime.  Contrasted  with  the  patriotism  of  Sparta 
and  Rome,  in  their  boasted  days  of  glory,  that  of 
the  Jew  is  as  eminently  superior,  as  the  source  from 
whence  it  sprung.  The  transition  from  the  feeling 
of  Grecian  patriotism,  to  that  of  the  Jew,  would 
have  been  like  the  revelation  of  truth  made  to  the 
mind  of  the  believing  Areopagite,  when  he  heard  the 
eloquent  Apostle  proclaim — "The  God  that  made 
the  world  and  all  things  therein,  is  not  worshipped 
in  temples  made  with  hands."  The  which  rev- 
elation seemed  like  peering  the  mind  from  a  long 
night  of  immensity  of  darkness  and  silence,  and 
throwing  it  through  wreathing  mists  of  glory,  to  ride 
with  the  spheres,  on  their  nicely  ordered  round  of 
changing  seasons,  to  listen  to  that  wondrous  music, 
whose  chords  are  so  skilfully  attuned,  that  it  might 
be  deemed  a  chorus  of  the  Seraphim. 

Christianity  has  ever  been  the  nursery  of  freedom 
and  patriotism.  The  history  of  a  pure  Christianity, 
is  but  the  history  of  men  struggling  against  every 
kind  of  oppression  and  wrong.  It  is  this  feeling 
which  makes  it  no  delight  for  the  christian  to  dwell 


FOUNTAIN  OF   JKZKEEL.  ]  13 

on  deeds  of  wickedness,  but  prompts  a  complacency 
for  the  good  and  the  mighty ;  which  has  placed  him 
with  the  multitude,  as  with  a  single  arm,  only  in 
their  deeds  of  perilous  enterprise,  and  their  struggles 
for  right  and  truth,  which  makes  him  sing  with  the 
Israelites,  their  song  of  deliverance;  or  go  to  Ilium, 
with  the  princely  avengers  of  the  wrongs  of  Atrides, 
and  in  imagination  to  re-enact,  with  the  steel-clad 
knight,  the  scenes  of  battle  for  the  tombs  of  Pales- 
tine. Such  was  the  feeling  which  animated  the 
youthful  shepherd-king  to  engage  the  armies  of  the 
murderous  Saul;  which  prompted  him  to  lay  low  the 
proud  defier  of  the  armies  of  Israel ;  and  which 
bound  to  his  fortunes  and  his  cause,  the  strong-armed 
warriors  of  the  soil. 

With  the  deeds  and  fortunes  of  Saul  this  fountain 
is  in  singular  association.  From  hence,  sad  and  for- 
saken of  God,  he  had,  under  cover  of  the  night, 
crossed  the  deep  valley  of  Jezreel,  northward  to 
the  little  Hermon,  which  he  scaled,  and  descended  to 
visit  the  witch  of  Endor,  through  whom  he  obtained 
the  terrible  interview  with  the  departed  Samuel, 
who  said  to  him — "To-morrow  shalt  thou  and  thy 
sons  be  with  me."  Here  he  and  Jonathan  had  en- 
camped on  the  night  before  the  fatal  battle,  in  which 
they   fell  down  slain,  on  a  neighboring  mountain. 


114       Fountain  uf  jezrkel. 

Throughout  the  entire  valley,  extending  from  the 
Jordan  on  the  east,  to  the  Mediterranean  on  the 
west,  and  from  the  mountains  of  Samaria  on  the 
south,  to  those  of  Nazareth  on  the  north,  there  is 
scarce  connected  one  pleasing  association,  recalling 
little  else  than  stories  of  ambition,  avarice,  cruelty, 
revenge  and  war.  "Around  this  fountain,"  says 
Dr  Durbin,  "have  encamped  the  armies  which  have 
contended  for  Palestine,  from  the  time  of  Gideon  to 
that  of  the  crusaders ;  and  all  over  the  great  plain, 
from  Bethshan  on  the  banks  of  the  Jordan,  where 
the  Philistines  exposed  the  headless  body  of  Saul,  to 
the  sacred  river  of  Kishon,  v/hich  swept  the  host  of 
Sisera,  along  the  base  of  Mount  Carmel,  into  the 
Mediterranean,  have  the  hosts  of  Asia,  Africa,  and 
Europe,  for  the  last  three  thousand  years,  pitched 
their  tents,  and  unfurled  their  banners  in  battle." 
The  Assyrian,  the  Persian,  the  Egyptian,  the  Sara- 
cen, the  Turk,  the  Arab,  the  Druse,  the  Crusader, 
and  the  Frenchman,  each  in  his  turn  have  draAvn 
their  sword,  and  bathed  it  in  blood  on  the  battle-field 
of  nations.  A  fountain  which,  while  pouring  out 
the  sparkling  beverage  of  life,  has  also  been  the 
receptacle  of  the  life-blood  of  slaughtered  thousands, 
will  forever  flow  as  an  emblem  of  the  blending  of 
happiness  and  wo,  life  and  death. 


FOUNTAIN  OF  THE  VIRGIN. 


The  sun  had  just  gone  down,  but  his  footprints 

yet  lay  on  the  clouds  of  his  pathway,  as  beautiful  and 

as  glorious  as  the  memories  that  remain  when  the 

noble  and  the  good  have  passed  beyond  our  m?)rtal 

vision.     A  soft  shadow  was  stealing  over  tree  and 

river,  as  twilight  gathered  around.     The  warm  tints 

of  the  decaying  leaf,  the  blue  of  the   atmosphere, 

and  the  bending  sky,  were  melting  into  its  sombre 

hue.     The  first  chills  of  early  autumn  were  ou  the 

landscape,  and  the  foliage  had  already  been  stricken 

by  the  hand  that  throws  beauty  over  decay,  yet  the 

stars  came  out  one  by  one,  and  the  heavens  grew 

bright.     I   had  watched  the  parting  sun  rays,  with 

the  seemingly  unconscious  hope,  that  I  might  track 

their  viewless  flight,  until  they  tremulously  vanished 

amidst  the  calm  of  the  serenest  skies,  when  a  silent 

tear  coursed  over  my   cheek   at  the  failure  of  my 

efforts.     A  long  train  of  mournful  reflections  came 

a'ooping  over  my  mind;  and  as  the  twi-light  deepened 

the  shadows  fell  heavily  on  my  spirit,  whilst  the  stars 

growing  more  distinct  and  beautiful,  seemed  to  chain 

me  to  the  gaze,  while   lacking  the  power  to  disperse 
10 


lib  Fountain   up   thk   virgin. 

the  gloom  of  my  mind.  It  was  an  hour  when  raau 
leans  not  on  life  ;  when  life  is  the  shadow  and  eter- 
nity the  real;  and  when  the  cares  and  toils  which 
fill  up  the  day,  dwindle  into  their  own  insignificance, 
in  the  presence  of  the  thoughts  that  wander  on  the 
Btar-beam,  and  traverse  the  hushed  and  holy  air. 
An  hour  when  the  wildest  throbbing  of  feeling 
becalmed  before  the  intellect,  which,  then  majestic 
and  unmoved,  looked  down  on  the  tumultuous  throb- 
bings  of  the  heart.  Sitting  on  a  rural  seat  in  the 
yard  of  my  humble  home,  I  seemed  to  sympathize 
with  nought,  save  the  stars,  whose  very  brilliance 
threatened  to  extinguish  their  lustre,  and  leave  the 
night  in  darkness.  My  breathing  was  hushed  and 
still,  and  no  sound  was  heard,  save  the  shiver  of  the 
willow,  as  the  light  breeze  wafted  its  rustle  to  the  ear 
of  the  passing  pedestrian,  whose  foot-falls  fell  invi- 
tingly on  the  hard  pavement,  occasionally  the  night 
wind  murmured  among  the  trees  with  a  stronger 
sway,  which  caused  the  rustling  leaves  to  interrupt 
my  sacred  communion  with  Nature,  and  imparted  the 
momentary  desire  to  leave  my  retreat.  Following 
these  impulses,  I  unconsciously  strayed  to  a  spot  on 
the  suburbs  of  the  town,  associated  with  all  that  was 
dear  of  hopeful,  youthful  memories.  Here,  at  early 
morn,  I  had  engaged  in  the  free  wild  sports  of  boy- 


FOUNTAIN    OF    THE    VIRGIN.  1J7 

hood,  when  neither  care  nor  sorrow  disturbed  the 
uninterrupted  harmony  of  my  joys.  How  changed 
was  I !  How  changed  the  place  !  Scarce  ten  years 
had  passed  since  the  merry  laugh  of  infancy  echoed 
long  and  loud,  through  the  wood  which  skirted  the 
common.  Here  the  skies  seemed  to  glow  with  the 
same  soft,  mellow  brightness,  which  inspired  the 
feeling  of  loneliness,  Avhen  sitting  under  the  willow. 
I  paused  on  reaching  the  retreat,  when  impressed 
with  the  vivid  recollections  of  earlier  years,  and  the 
beauty  of  the  solitude  and  the  scene,  sank  down  upon 
a  little  elevated  knoll.  I  had  been  seated  here  but 
a  few  minutes,  when  looking  up,  I  saw  a  man  reeling 
to  and  fro,  in  the  direction  of  a  small  house,  which 
stood  farther  out  on  the  common.  It  required  but 
the  glance  to  see  he  was  in  a  state  of  bestial  intoxi- 
cation. As  he  stumbled  on  toward  the  door,^  I 
instinctively  rose  and  walked  slowly  after,  keeping 
at  such  distance,  that  my  foot-falls  should  not  attract 
his  attention.  The  door  was  placed  at  the  end  of 
the  building,  so  that  making  a  diversion  to  the  right, 
I  approached  the  house,  at  an  angle  from  the  line  of 
his  advance,  and  toward  a  window,  through  which 
occasional  gleams  of  light,  were  but  faintly  seen. 
Upon  arriving  at  the  entrance  he  raised  his  clenched 
fist,  and  struck  the  door  with  such  violence,  as  well 


118  FOUNTAIN    OF    THE    VIRGIN. 

nigh  severed  it  from  the  hinges,  muttering  in  loud, 
though  indistinct  syllables,  a  horrible  imprecation 
on  his  wife.  Mj  first  impulse  Avas,  to  go  to  the  door 
and  see  that  no  further  insult  or  violence  were  offered. 
Recollecting  the  probable  imprudence  and  danger  of 
the  attempt,  I  walked  direct  to  the  window,  through 
which,  I  had  a  view  of  all  that  passed  within.  The 
fiend,  as  I  supposed  him  to  be,  staggered  toward  the 
hearth,  at  which  his  wife  was  sitting,  over  a  few 
smoking  embers,  which  she  occasionally  stirred,  in 
the  hope  of  boiling  a  few  potatos  for  her  evening 
meal.  Alarmed  by  the  threat  of  her  husband,  she 
sprang  from  the  fireside,  and  addressing  him  by  name 
exclaimed,  "Oh  do  not  kill  me,  for  heaven's  sake  do 
not  kill  me  !  "  and  then  ran  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room.  Her  husband,  (for  such  I  now  knew  him 
to  be,)  stood  with  his  glaring  bloodshot  eyes  fixed 
upon  her,  for  the  moment,  whilst  his  wife  in  great 
fear,  partially  concealed  herself  behind  an  old  broken 
cupboard.  Then  raising  a  chair,  hurling  it  around 
his  head,  and  vociferating  a  dreadful  oath,  my  ear 
instinctively  waited  to  catch  the  sound  of  the  maimed 
or  lifeless  body  of  his  wife  falling  upon  the  floor. 
When  my  eye  glanced  toward  the  wall  from  which 
she  hastily  jerked  down  a  picture,  when  kissing  it, 
she  ran  toward  her  husband,  and  falling  at  his  feet 


FOUNTAIN    OF    THE    VIRGIN.  119 

with  tears  exclaimed,  "for  the  sake  of  our  holy 
mother,  the  blessed  Virgin  Mary,  spare  my  life." 
Instinctively,  the  arm  of  the  drunken  man  lowered, 
when  the  chair  fell  down  with  a  crash  upon  the  floor. 
Standing  mute  for  the  moment,  he  staggered  heavily 
over  the  floor,  and  threw  himself  down  in  the 
chimney  corner.  Altogether,  it  was  a  scene  difficult 
to  be  described.  The  drunken,  murderous,  phren- 
zied  husband ;  the  alarmed,  weepi..^  and  sorrow 
stricken  wife,  pressing  to  her  heart  the  picture  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  by  an  appeal  to  whom,  her  life  had 
been  spared,  formed  a  scene  for  a  painter,  and  one 
of  the  most  graphic  occurrences  I  have  ever  beheld. 
I  returned  home  silent  and  thoughtful,  without  giv- 
ing intimation  to  any,  what  I  had  witnessed.  The 
next  morning,  I  accidentally  picked  up  a  book  of 
travel,  when  turning  over  the  pages,  I  noticed  a 
sketch  of  the  scenery  and  situation  of  the  ^^Foun- 
tain  of  the  Virgin,''  upon  which  I  involuntarily  ex- 
claimed, I  too,  have  seen  the  Fountain  of  the  Vir- 
gin in  those  tears  which  flowed  from  the  eyes  of  the 
poor  woman,  last  night,  which  I  believed  to  have 
been  equally  efiicient  in  the  preservation  from  dan- 
ger, as  that  of  the  Virgin  itself.  Though  certainly 
not  as  potent  as  the  plea  of  the  condemned  sinner, 

who,  in  shrinking  behind  the  cross,  exclaims, 

10* 


120  FOUNTAIN    OF    THE    VIRGIN. 

"  'Tis  just  the  sentence  should  take  place, 
'Tis  jusf,  but  O  I  thy  Son  has  died." 

This  memorable  fountain  is  just  without  the  north- 
west portion  of  the  present  town  of  Nazareth.  All 
the  inhabitants,  as  in  former  days,  come  here  to  pro- 
cure water,  and  travellers  say  it  is  always  thronged 
as  you  approach  it. 

Though  the  stream  runs  steadily,  it  is  yet  slow,  so 
that  maidens  collect  and  wait  for  their  turn,  or  else 
engage  in  a  most  "unmaidenly  contest,"  as  to  who 
shall  first  get  water.  The  large  marble  trough 
which  holds  the  water,  is  supposed  to  have  been  a 
sarcophagus. 

It  is  very  probable  that  the  mother  of  our  blessed 
Lord,  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  repaired  to  this  foun- 
tain with  the  damsels  of  the  village,  to  procure  water, 
distinguished  here  as  elsewhere,  by  the  purity  of  her 
manners,  and  the  modesty  of  her  demeanor. 

To  us,  the  occurrence  narrated,  and  the  fountain 
of  the  Virgin,  are  inseparably  connected.  Hallow, 
ed  by  the  presence  of  Christ,  and  of  Mary,  and 
endeared  to  all  by  these  pious  recollections,  this 
"fountain"  can  never  be  torn  from  the  heart  and 
mind  of  the  christian. 


GALILEE-OR  SEA  OF  TIBERIAS. 


Bright  are  the  rays  of  the  beaming  sun,  soft  and 
clear  are  the  notes  of  the  feathered  songsters,  echo- 
ing from  the  forest  grove.  Hope  smiles  in  every 
eye,  and  joy  beams  bright  in  every  heart.  Glitter- 
ing pearls  are  seen  sparkling  on  the  bosom  of  the 
smooth  sea ;  while  nature,  as  if  about  to  assume  her 
richest  garb,  sent  forth  from  every  hill  and  vale,  a 
tribute  of  praise  to  the  high  and  lofty  One.  Such,  we 
are  informed  by  a  recent  tourist,  was  the  character  of 
the  morn  on  which  his  eyes  first  caught  a  view  of 
the  bright  and  gently  ^undulating  surface  of  the  lake 
of  Gencssareth. 

Somehow,  we  always  associate  the  idea  of  an  eter- 
nity of  happiness  with  this  sea,  so  fruitful  of  holy 
and  pleasing  reminiscences.  Often  when  awake,  in 
the  calm  and  stillness  of  the  midnight  hour,  this 
sacred  sea  moves  on  in  undisturbed  repose  before  our 
imagination,  with  scarce  a  ripple  on  its  surface. 
Veiled  in  the  deep  and  dark  obscurity,  concealed  in 
the  darkness  from  every  mortal  eye,  this  inland 
ocean  of  unuttered  beauty,  lies  spread  before  us,  un- 
til its  swelling  waves  of  sympathy  and  of  love,  one 


122  GALILEE. 

after  auother,  in  quick  succession,  burst  upon  our 
enraptured  gaze.  And  then,  as  we  seek  to  wander 
around  its  silent  shore,  Our  feet  unconsciously  stray 
to  the  edge  of  the  water,  whilst  the  eye  searches 
amid  the  darkness,  for  that  Form,  which  in  ancient 
days  walked  over  its  shining  billows.  How  often 
we  have  wished  for  some  aerial  car,  which,  swift  as 
thought,  would  convey  us  to  its  delightful  shore,  just 
where  the  dripping  branches  of  the  fig-trees,  depend- 
ing over  some  projecting  rock,  were  enveloped  in  a 
slight  fringe  of  spray,  thrown  against  them  by  the 
rippling  of  the  silver  wave?  When  blessed  in  its 
repose  and  shelter,  we  would  pray  to  remain  un- 
known to  men;  where  none  might  envy  us  as  the 
fortunate  possessor  of  this  sacred  retreat,  and  where, 
visited  only  by  the  birds  of  the  lake,  the  soft  south 
wind  and  sunshine  could  only  pierce  our  hiding  amid 
trees  and  water.  These  hopes,  though  fond,  are 
vain  only  in  the  impossiblity  of  their  realization. 
Yet  the  time  may  come  in  which  we  shall  look  back 
with  pleasure  to  the  hallowed  memories  of  these 
sleepless  hours,  with  feelings  of  transport  and  ecsta- 
cy,  in  the  actual  contemplation  of  that  which  we  had 
hoped  to  enjoy.  How  singularly  interesting  and 
excitino;  are  all  the  event's  which  mark  the  Savior's 
pilgrimage !     Whether   we  view  him  sitting  by  the 


GALILEE.  ]23 

humble  mechanic,  at  the  table  of  the  peasant,  or 
stopping  at  some  lowly  inn,  hungry,  weary  and  slum- 
brous like  other  men,  he  startles  us  as  much  by  his 
words  as  by  his  actions  and  his  destiny.  From  the 
time  when  the  star  arose  on  the  manger  where  he 
lay  cradled,  and  where  as  a  babe,  sages  bent  over 
him  in  reverent  worship,  until  the  radiant  heavens 
received  him  to  glory,  his  every  [act  alike  proclaims 
him  Creator  and  Redeemer.  A  strange,  unearthly 
influence  surrounded  him;  a  light  never  before  seen 
flashed  from  his  eye,  and  drew  the  crowds  by  which 
he  was  ever  surrounded.  Yet  now,  as  we  seem  to 
hear  the  words  which  fell  from  his  lips,  and  the  ut- 
tering of  those  new  truths,  which  startled  the  soul 
of  man,  like  a  trumpet  call,  we  cease  to  be  surprised. 
No  wonder,  whether  sitting  by  the  way-side,  where 
the  dust  of  the  carriage  wheels  of  the  proud  man 
passing  by,  was  perchance  cast  over  his  weary  limbs, 
or  where,  assuming  the  more  elevated  character  of 
his  mission,  he  preached  on  the  mountain  side,  the 
multitude  still  hung  on  his  lips,  and  the  people 
thronged  about  him. 

We  have  often  wished  to  call  up  the  moving 
pathos  of  his  discourses,  in  which  simplicity  was 
powerful,  and  where  fire  and  purity  combined,  like 
light  and  transparency  in  a  diamond.     What  sensa- 


124  GALILEE. 

tions  were  produced  on  the  multitude  of  minds  around 
him,  by  the  tones  and  ardor  and  accent  of  his  inex- 
haustible effusions !  There  would  be  the  sense  of 
sadness,  recurring  like  the  unexpected  notes  at  the 
end  of  an  air ;  caressing  words,  which  seemed  to 
fan  the  brow,  like  the  breath  of  a  fond  mother  bend- 
ing over  her  child;  a  melodious  lulling  of  half- 
whispered  words,  and  hushed  though  thrilling  sen- 
tences, which  wrapped  his  auditory  in  light  and  mur- 
murs ;  which  falling  upon  the  still  deep  of  the  soul, 
led  them  by  soft  and  soothing  syllables  to  the  repose 
of  love.  Unencumbered  in  his  delivery,  by  the  rules 
of  the  rhetoricians,  the  unveiled  soul  stood  forth 
upon  his  lips,  so  that  in  the  announcement  of  his 
heart-breathed  words,  nothing  would  evaporate,  as  in 
tho  slow  and  dull  transition  of  the  feeling  to  the 
word  on  the  lips  of  an  ordinary  teacher.  Rising 
from  the  impassioned  depths  of  the  concealed  divin- 
ity, his  speech  woke  itself  to  life  and  power,  and 
falling  in  exhuberant  beauty  from  his  lips,  was  adored 
and  admired  ere  consciously  expressed.  The  modern 
name  of  this  lake,  which  is  probably  a  corruption  of 
the  ancient  name  Chinnereth,  sounds  harsh  and  un- 
musical, and  is  one,  of  which  we  are  not  much  enam-  1 
ored.  Its  breadth,  according  to  Josephus,  from 
East  to  West,  is   about   six,  and  the    length  from 


GALIl.EK.  125 

North  to  South,  full  eighteen  miles.  'J'lie  country 
around  it,  anciently  fruitful  and  well  cultivated, 
spread  populous  cities  around  its  pure  and  whole- 
some waters,  even  down  to  the  smooth  gravel  washed 
by  its  silent  waves.  Not  distant  from  this  sea  was 
the  birth  place  of  Jesus,  and  where  resigned  to  the 
obedience  and  charm  of  his  childhood  years,  he  kept 
away  from  the  dissipating  influences  of  earth,  and 
whilst  in  the  midst  of  a  busy  population,  wrapped 
himself  in  silence,  solitude  and  reserve,  until  the 
commencement  of  his  public  ministry  ;  where,  when 
unoccupied  in  the  duties  of  his  reputed  father's  trade, 
he  would  retire  to  meditate  beneath  the  half-stripped 
trees  of  the  garden,  where  the  shade  of  the  vine- 
leaves  and  the  rays  of  the  sun  played  and  chased 
each  other  alternately  over  his  benignant  face. 
And  from  Gallilee  as  a  centre,  and  the  place  of  his 
stated  abode,  the  Savior  practically  illustrated  that 
glorious  system  of  pastoral  theology,  which  showed 
that  the  shepherd's  crook  could  be  used  with  a  Bish- 
op's skill.  From  place  to  place,  from  cottage  to 
cottage,  to  the  abode  of  wretchedness  and  spiritual 
destitution,  he  went  on  his  mission  of  love,  teaching 
the  burdened  spirit  to  repose  upon  himself,  and 
directing  the  sin-sick  soul  to  the  balm  in  Gilead,  and 
the  physician  there,  for  health  and  eternal  life.     On 


126  GALILEE. 

the  shore  of  this  lake,  that  notable  miracle,  the  feed- 
ing of  five  thousand  was  enacted.  From  the  city, 
the  hamlet,  the  farm  house,  and  the  hovel,  they  had 
come,  bringing  on  litters  the  sick,  whilst  the  blind 
groping  their  toilsome  way,  by  the  sound  of  rushing 
footsteps,  endeavored  to  get  near  the  vessel  that 
wafted  Jesus  of  Nazareth  around  the  shore.  Pain 
and  weariness  were  forgotten  in  the  deep  anxiety  to 
be  restored  by  the  man  of  fame  and  wonder.  A 
poor  man  without  family,  property,  or  education,  he 
nevertheless  claims  to  have  the  power  to  forgive  sins 
and  heal  the  sick.  Half  incredulous,  yet  having 
heard  his  miracles  attested,  they  watch  the  progress 
of  that  frail  bark,  as  though  it  carried  their  destiny. 
The  waves  scarcely  stirred  by  the  summer  winds, 
bears  but  slowly  over  the  sunlit  wave,  the  weary 
Son  of  Mary.  As  he  casts  his  eye  over  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  sea,  the  distant  beach  is  crowded  with 
men  and  women,  who,  while  watching  the  progress 
of  the  vessel,  make  the  shore  echo  with  their  solici- 
tations and  prayers.  His  heart  swelled  at  the  sight, 
and  as  the  vessel  touched  the  strand,  his  more  than 
placid  voice,  lifted  up  above  the  murmur  of  the 
waves,  poured  forth  such  unutterable  truths,  that 
hours  flew  unconsciously  by ;  as  with  upturned  faces, 
they  drank  in  the  messages  of  love   and  kindness. 


UAi.ii.Kt;.  127 

As  night  began  to  come  down  on  the  sea,  the   last 
beam  of  expiring  day  fell  upon  nothing,  save   the 
multitude  betokening  life,  amid  the  universal  desola- 
tion.    These  following  him  from   afar,  as  if  involr.ii- 
tarily  attracted  by  some  superior  principle,  coming 
to  a  consciousness  of  their  situation,  found  them- 
selves destitute  of  bread.     The  Disciples  filled  with 
tender  sympathy,  besought  Jesus  to  send  them  away 
to    procure  sustenance  and  lodging  for  the  night. 
Not  so  could  He  do,  Avhose  great  office,  was  to  feed 
the  hungry,  and    comfort  the  distressed.     The  Sa- 
vior's Omniscient  eye,  saw  a  lad,  in  the  midst  of  the 
multitude,  on  Avhom  were  found  "five  barley  loaves 
and  a  few  small  fishes,"  taking  them,  having    given 
thanks,  he  broke  them  before  the  people,  with  which 
the  multitude  were  fed,  without  the  least  diminution 
of  the  lad's  supply.    Then,  methinks,  as  the  benedic- 
tion or  dismissal  fell  from  his  lips,  the  encompassing 
heavens  bent  nearer  his  brow,  whilst  the  wild  scone 
around  them,  was  illumed   in   greater  brilliancy  by 
the    blaze    of  the    setting   sun.     The  scene  is    now 
ciiangcil.     The  hum  of  the  subdued  vOiCes  of  the  far 
parting  multitude  have  long  since  died  aAvay,  whilst 
He,  who  a  few  brief  hours  gone  by,  was  surrounded 
by  hundreds,  was  now  solitary  and  alone.     The  moan 

of  the  sea,  now  being  lashed  into  a  tempest,  and  the 
11 


128  GALILEE. 

solitude  of  the  desert  scene,  were  strangely  in  keep- 
ing with  the  sadness  which  oppressed  his  soul.  The 
shadows  of  night,  and  now  darker  than  the  forebo- 
dings that  gather  around  his  spirit,  induce  hira  to 
turn  his  footsteps  towards  a  lonely  mountain  to  pray. 
Where  kneeling  under  the  thickening  clouds,  in  sweet 
submission  and  tender  sympathy,  he  kept  hallowed 
interview  with  his  Father  in  heaven.  Now  rising 
from  prayer,  he  slowly  and  thoughtfully  retraced  his 
steps  to  the  shore.  Dark  thunder  clouds  were  hov- 
ering over  its  bosom ;  the  wind  sweeping  by,  in 
angry  gusts,  lashed  it  into  fury  ;  while  the  frail Ibark 
struggled  for  life  amid  the  angry  billows.  By  the 
flashes,  which  ever  and  anon  rent  the  gloom,  the 
plunging  vessel  was  seen  dividing  the  waves,  as  the 
strong  wind  hurried  it  along  the  distracted  waters- 
Though  the  scene  was  terrible,  the  Savior  calmly 
and  serenely  stepped  upon  the  billows,  and  moved 
out  upon  the  watery  waste,  as  it  rolled  and  crumbled 
at  his  feet.  Proceeding  toward  the  vessel,  the  Dis- 
ciples with  straining  eyes  watch  the  fast  approaching 
spectral  form,  and  start  back  in  greater  dread  than 
at  the  sound  of  the  tempest.  Yet  no  sooner  than 
the  expression,  "it  is  I,  be  not  afraid,"  had  fallen 
upon  their  ears,  from  the  well  known  accent  of  the 
Redeemer's  voice,  than  fear  and  horror  gave  way  to 
the  wildest  joy. 


4 
GALILEE.  129 

*'  So  still  thy  while  roljps  fell — no  brt^ntli  of  air, 
"  Within  iheir  long  and  slumbrous  folds  had  sway, 

#  •  *  w  »  •  • 

•*  Dark  were  the  heavens  above  the  Savior ;  dark 
"The  gulf's  Deliverer!  round  the  straining  bark, 
"But  thou!  o'er  all  thine  aspect  and  array 
"  Was  poured  one  stream,  of  pale  broad  silvery  light. 
"Thou  werl  the  single  star  of  thit  all-shrouding  night." 

This  sea  was  subsequently  the  place  to  which  our 
Lord  resorted  after  his  resurrection,  and  by  whose 
shore  the  Apostles  found  "  fire  and  coals  and  fish 
laid  thereon,  and  bread."  Calling  most,  if  not  all 
of  his  ministers  from  Galilee,  it  was  but  natural  they 
should  frequently  return  to,  and  labor  in  the  country 
of  their  birth.  Our  Lord,  and  through  him,  the 
Apostles  were  but  complimented  by  the  expression 
of  his  adversary,  the  dying  Julian,  who  being  cut 
off  from  prosecuting  his  purposes  against  Christianity 
exclaimed  in  the  hour  of  death,  Vicisti  Grdlilee! 
thou  hast  conquered,  0  Gralilean !  The  Savior's 
feet  having  pressed  upon  the  bosom  of  this  inland 
sea,  immortal  will  be  the  echo  of  its  sounding  surge. 


GAD-A   RIVEE. 


It  is  not  unfrequently  observed,  that  names  and  pla- 
ces are  used  interchangeably  by  the  inspired  authors. 
If  in  the  name  of  an  individual,  we  have  sometimes 
the  sir-name,  and  at  others,  his  name  coupled  with 
the  town  of  his  birth,  or  some  distinguished  action 
or  occurrence  of  his  life.  This  does  not  make  the 
inspired  record  more  obscure,  but  introduces  a  great 
variety  of  pleasing  reminiscences,  which  can  but  be 
interesting  to  the  student  of  Bible  localities.  How 
tender  and  pleasing  are  these  associat^'ons !  The 
name  of  David  inseparably  connected  with  the  city 
of  Bethlehem,  would  doubtless  awaken  in  the  mind 
of  the  "Shepherd  King"  many  of  the  most  holy 
and  tender  recollections.  Here  lived  his  revered 
parents;  here  was  his  natal  hour;  here  was  the  the- 
atre of  his  boyhood  sports ;  and  on  its  moon-lit  hills 
he  watched  his  father's  flocks,  when  sent  for  to  be 
anointed  king  of  the  nation.  The  same  feeling  that 
afterwards  prompted  the  psalmist  to  exclaim — "  If  I 
forget  thee,  0  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  forget 
her  cunning,  and  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth,  if  I  remember  not  .Ternsalem  above  my  chief 


GAD.  131 

joy,"  with  but  little  abbi'eviation  in  thought  or  feel- 
ing, could  have  been  applied  to  Bethlehem,  the  city 
of  Christ  and  David.  With  what  feelings  of  un- 
speakable and,  at  times,  melancholy  pleasure,  after 
a  long  absence,  do  we  view  the  scenes  and  associa- 
tions of  our  earlier  years  ?  The  interminable  vista 
of  trees,  which  surround  the  natal  village;  the  mea- 
dows and  winding  brooks;  the  side-walks  which 
echoed  the  tramp  of  our  noisy  infant  feet;  and  the 
church,  in  which  were  heard  the  well  remembered 
tones  of  the  revered  minister's  voice,  all  seem  holy 
and  sacred  as  when  its  tones,  in  measured  melody, 
fell  upon  our  ears  in  days  forever  gone.  Amid  such 
scenes  the  cares  and  sorrows  of  the  world  are  for- 
gotten. Affections  which  have  long  lain  dormant, 
are  awakened  to  new  life.  We  begin  to  feel  and 
sympathise  with  those  in  this  humble  and  cheerful 
sphere,  and  almost  repine  that  our  lot  had  not  been 
cast  forever  with  them.  If  these  reminiscences  are 
80  strong,  how  pleasant  to  be  associated  with  that 
which  is  ever  dear  and  lovely,  and  thus  have  our 
name,  like  the  ivy  and  the  oak,  inseparably  transmit- 
ted to  posterity? 

The   river  of  which  we  now  propose  to  write,  is 
supposed  to  have  been  the  same  with  the  Arnon, 

which,  rising    in    the  mountains  of  Gilead,    east   of 
11* 


132  GAD. 

Jordan,  flowing  first  toAvard  the  south,  and  then 
toward  the  west,  empties  into  the  eastern  side  of  the 
Dead  Sea.  After  the  Ammonites  had  been  dispos- 
sessed of  the  country  on  the  east  of  the  Jordan,  by 
the  Amorites,  this  river  was  the  division  between  the 
latter  people  and  the  Moabites;  and  later  still,  after 
the  Israelites  had  conquered  the  country  of  the 
Amorites,  the  Arnon  was  the  boundary  between  the 
tribe  of  Reuben  and  the  land  of  Moab.  It  is  called 
the  river  of  Gad,  (2  Sam,  xxiv:  5;  2  Kings,  x:  33;) 
being  the  eastern  boundary  of  that  tribe.  The  in- 
terchangeable use  of  the  names.  Gad  and  Arnon,  in 
the  mind  of  him  conversant  with  sacred  history, 
may  induce  the  remembrance  of  the  eventful  history 
of  one  of  the  tribes  of  Israel,  in  connection  with 
the  unfortunate  and  criminal  origin  of  the  Ammon- 
Hes  and  Moabites.  It  would  appear  from  the  book 
of  Judges,  that  the  country  east  of  Jordan,  from 
the  river  Jabbok,  as  fiir  south  as  the  river  Gad,  was 
the  land  of  the  Ammonites;  yet  it  is  certain  that 
the  southern  portion,  toward  the  Arnon,  was  form- 
erly inhabited  by  the  Moabites.  This  tract  of  coun- 
try they  still  continued  to  possess,  after  being  dis- 
possessed of  the  Jordan  by  the  Amorites.  The 
Moabites  possessed  the  country  north  of  the  Arnon, 
SB   ako   a    tract   south  of  that  river,  between  Edom 


r.  A  D .  133 

to  the  west,  and  Midian  to  the  south  and  east.  This 
latter  portion  they  held  after  being  stripped  of  the 
former  possessions  by  Sihon,  king  of  the  Amorites. 
From  the  prophecies  recorded  against  this  people, 
it  would  seem  that  they  were  wicked  to  an  unpar- 
donable degree,  proving  that  the  iniquities  of  a  pro- 
genitor may  be  entailed  upon  all  who  may  come 
after.  The  melancholy  fate  of  Sodom  will  be  for- 
ever associated  with  the  people  of  Ammon  and 
Moab.  The  simple  narrative  which  details  their 
origin,  with  no  other  adornment  than  the  truth 
itself,  cannot  prove  less  interesting  to  the  reader 
than  either  poetry  or  romance ;  for  it  is  one  of  those 
events  in  which  truth  is  "stranger  than  fiction." 
But  recently  the  history  of  these  interesting  tribes 
was  awakened  in  my  mind,  by  a  jocose  and  some- 
what singular  observation,  made  by  one  whose 
/riendship  and  minute  acquaintance  with  scripture 
geography  we  highly  appreciate.  We  were  on  a 
pleasant  excursion  to  a  beautiful  mountain  elevation 
the  scene  of  a  wonderful  and  appalling  catastrophe, 
the  memory  of  which  throws  a  deep  melancholy  over 
the  retired  mountain  height.  We  were  winding  our 
way  among  the  bases  of  high  mountains,  springing 
up  from  the  level  on  which  we  stood,  and  burying 
their   lofty  peaks  in  the  clouds,  which  hung  in  dark 


134  GAD. 

and  heavy  masses  above  thein.  The  mist,  thinner 
than  the  dense  clouds  that  filled  the  upper  air,  was 
curling  upward  and  downward  along  the  lower  levels 
of  the  many  hill  sides,  in  wreaths  of  fantastic  shapes, 
displaying  in  succession  a  series  of  the  most  pictu- 
resque lanscapes.  In  the  midst  of  the  general 
admiration  excited  by  this  scene  of  varied  beauty 
We  became  aware  of  our  near  approach  to  a  point, 
which  we  had  been  told,  at  our  last  stopping  place, 
we  should  find  one  of  the  most  interesting  in  our 
whole  journey.  The  dark  hill-sides,  bounding  our 
view  on  either  hand,  were  deeply  indented  with  the 
paths  that  many  mighty  avalanches  had  traversed. 
We  had  come  to  a  sudden  turn  among  the  hills,  and 
found  ourselves  entering  a  broad  circular  valley,  at 
the  base  of  the  wide  mountain  range,  which  rose 
amphitheatrically  all  around  us,  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  At  the  foot  of  the  highest  and  most 
corrugated  of  the  hills,  my  friend  pointed  out  a  spot 
where  history  and  tradition  had  fixed  the  enactment 
of  a  most  fearful  and  bloody  tragedy,  as  preparatory 
to  the  commencement  of  a  series  of  most  deplorable 
depredations  upon  occasional  travellers. 

"This  deep  cavern" — into  which  we  were  then 
looking — said  my  friend,  "seems  to  have  been  like 
the  cave  to  which  Lot  retired,  in  which,  and  out  of 


GAD.  135 

which  came  nothing  but  corruption  and  destruction." 
Simple  as  was  the  remark,  it  subserved  the  purpose 
of  fixing  this  scriptural  event  indelibly  upon  ray 
memory.  Since  which,  this  cave  of  the  assassin, 
from  whence  he  never  emerged  but  to  perform  the 
work  of  destruction,  has  ever  been  singularly  asso- 
ciated with  the  evil  and  ignominy  of  that  cave  to 
which  Lot  and  his  daughters  retired.  It  has  also 
induced  the  recurrence  of  other  scripture  localities, 
from  their  supposed  resemblance  in  history  or  in 
fact,  to  any  other  places  I  have  since  beheld.  Sim- 
ple as  is  the  history  of  an  individual  passing  his  life 
in  comparative  obscurity,  there  are  yet  many  occur- 
renc3S,  which,  if  properly  treasured  up,  would  fur- 
nish an  interesting  fund  of  instruction  and  reminis- 
cence for  the  contemplation  and  reflection  of  after 
years.  There  is  just  as  much  philosophy  in  the 
shock  which  the  cottage  receives,  trembling  under  a 
sudden  concussion  of  air,  as  in  the  vibration  of  a 
palace  at  the  shock  of  distant  thunder.  The  river 
Gad,  forming  the  boundary  line  of  the  two  tribes  of 
Israel,  and  in  this  way  associated  with  the  history  of 
Ammon  and  Moab,  can  never  be  forgotten. 


HAROD.-A  WELL. 


The  Jew's  singular  attachment  for  the  city  and 
country  of  his  father's  has  been  a  fruitful  theme  of 
an  inadversion  during  all  periods  of  his  history. 
Amid  the  most  oppressive  calamities,  and  the  most 
severe  and  lengthened  subjugation  in  foreign  lands, 
that  disposition  which  caused  them  to  exclaim  on  a 
memorable  occasion,  "how  can  we  sing  the  Lord's 
song  in  a  strange  land,"  was  ever  apparent.  Six 
times  have  they  witnessed  the  destruction  of  Jeru- 
salem, yet  still  armed  with  courage,  they  turn  their 
looks  upon  Zion,  from  which  nothing  can  divert  them. 
Slaves  and  strangers  in  their  own  land,  they  continue 
to  dwell  near  the  temple,  of  which  there  does  not 
remain  one  stone  upon  another ;  awaiting  under  a 
most  cruel  and  despotic  government,  a  king  who  is 
to  work  their  deliverance.  While  the  Persians, 
Greeks  and  Romans,  have  disappeared  from  the  face 
of  the  earth,  this  small  people,  whose  origin  is  much 
more  ancient  than  these  mighty  nations,  still  survive 
amidst  the  ruin  of  their  country,  without  an  altera- 
tion of  manners,  or  mixture  of  foreign  blood.  Here 
too,  in  reality  and  in  imagination,  will  they  ever  lin- 


HAKOD.  137 

ger,  with  the  pertinacity  which  has  always  iormed 
one  of  their  strongest  characteristics,  bewailing  the 
desolation  of  Judah,  and  waiting  for  the  time  when 
God  shall  "renew  their  days  of  old." 

Here  tooj  the  christian's  delighted  imagination  is 
fixed ;  not  only  on  account  of  its  Old  Testament  as- 
sociations, but  because  the  Son  of  God  accomplished 
the  work  of  human  redemption,  or  still  yet,  that  the 
spark  was  here  kindled,  which  shall  enlighten  all 
nations,  but  because  here,  a  constellation  of  prophe- 
cies have  been  fulfilled  in  such  manner  as  to  carry 
conviction  to  every  mind,  of  the  solemn  truth  of 
Revelation.  So  without  invalidating  these  truths, 
the  Jew  bowing  beside  the  christian  on  the  same 
consecrated  spot,  will  worship  the  same  God,  with 
feelings  of  widely  dissimilar  devotion.  One  mighi 
infer,  that  a  people  so  devoted  to  their  country, 
would  never  have  wanted  those  sentiments  of  patri- 
otism, which  induced  the  hazard  of  life  in  its  defence. 
Sometimes,  however,  we  have  reason  to  believe  they 
neglected  to  cultivate  this,  their  laudible  and  truly 
national  characteristic.  This  memorable  well,  is 
associated  with  an  important  event,  exhibiting  Israel 
on  account  of  the  oppression  to  which  they  had  been 
so  long  subjected,  or  more  probably,  from  a  con- 
sciousness of  guilt,  to  have  been   deprived  of  their 


138  HAKob. 

courage.  The  Midianites  had  long  and  severely 
oppressed  them,  so  that  reduced  to  the  alternative  of 
making  a  desperate  effort,  to  weaken  their  foes,  or 
submit  to  increased  and  unconditional  oppression,  we 
might  have  supposed,  under  the  circumstances, 
greater  effort  would  have  been  made  to  concentrate 
such  numbers  as  would  have  given  their  enemies  a 
signal  defeat.  With  the  most  desperate  exertion 
upon  the  part  of  Gideon,  he  could  collect  and  con- 
centrate, but  thirty-two  thousand  men,  which  was 
numerically  inferior  to  the  host  by  which  they  were 
opposed.  With  this  number,  their  distinguished  and 
disciplined  leader,  was  fearful  to  encounter  the  op- 
posing host.  In  the  midst  of  his  anxious  solicitude, 
as  to  the  result  of  the  contemplated  engogemont, 
and  when  bewailing  the  indifference  of  his  followers, 
the  Lord  communicated  to  his  ears  the  strange  intel- 
ligence, that  the  people  whom  he  had  collected  by 
the  most  untiring  exertion,  were  too  many  for  the 
Lord  to  give  the  Midianites  into  their  hands.  Lest 
Israel  "vaunt  themselves  against  me,  saying,  mine 
own  hand  hath  saved  me."  Strange  and  unusual  as 
was  this  announcement,  Gideon  preferred  to  submit 
to  the  Divine  determination,  rather  than  aggrandize 
his  military  reputation,  at  the  cost  of  the  Sovereign 
complacency.     He  was  directed  to  inform  those  who 


HA  ROD.  159 

were  fearful,  to  depart  early  from  Mount  Gilead,  the 
place  of  the  encampment,  as  they,  above  all  others, 
who  had  acted  cowardly  on  former  occasions,  would 
be  most  likely,  after  the  obtainment  of  victory,  to 
take  the  honor  from  God,  and  appropriate  it  to 
themselves.  Singular  must  have  been  the  feelings 
of  those  twenty-two  thousand  Israelites,  who  under 
such  circumstances,  could  desert  their  standard  and 
their  God.  On  Mount  Gilead,  might  have  been  seen 
the  remaining  ten  thousand,  in  the  midst  of  deserted 
banners,  whilst  "arms"  without  the  men  to  use  them 
were  thrown  in  indiscriminate  confusion  all  around. 
Sorrowful  were  they,  who,  left  behind,  gazed  with 
mingled  feelings  of  pity  and  contempt,  upon  the 
retiring  crowds,  as  they  crossed  the  deep  valley  and 
disappeared  behind  trees  and  mountain  heights. 
The  air  was  clear  and  bracing  as  the  early  part  of 
autumn,  when  the  freshness  of  summer  having  scarce 
passed  into  the  "sere  and  yellow  leaf,"  like  the  bright 
sun  in  an  unclouded  evening,  leaves  its  softest  beauty 
and  brilliancy  behind  it.  The  beams  of  the  rising 
sun  were  shining  brightly  amid  the  few  remaining 
flowers,  and  undecayed  herbage  of  Mount  Gilead, 
and  brightening  the  long  shadows  cast  forth  from 
tree  and  biush,  when  the  faint  sound  of  half-suppres- 
sed disapprobation  echoed  along  the  ranks  of  the 
12 


14U  HAROD. 

few   thousand  of  Israel,  who    yet   remained.     The 
high  summit  of  the  opposite  mountain,  was  covered 
with  the  tens  of  thousands  of  the  Midianitish  host, 
displaying  the  ensigna  of  war,  as  preparatory  to  the 
combat  around  the  camp  in  the  valley   below.     An- 
other battle  must  be  fought;  one  desperate  as  power- 
ful, must  be  fought  and  won,  by  the  many  and  the 
mighty,  against  the  few.     The  dread  'standard  of 
oppression,'  is  for  the  last  time  flung  to  the  breeze ; 
and  its  followers  swarm  around  it  for  its  triumph  or 
defeat.     A  crisis   has   arrived;  and   the  period  to 
which  they  had  come,  was  that  in  which  their  desti- 
ny as  a  nation,  would  be  determined.     The  sun,  as 
if  blushing  at  the  event,  had  sunk  behind   an  angry 
cloud,  which  overcast  the  heavens  a  short  time  after 
the  withdrawal  of  the  thousands  of  Israel's  treops; 
and  was  now  throwing  the  lighter  and  fleecy  clouds 
around  it,  as  a  mighty  ship  casting  the  snowy  sprays 
from   its  path,  through  the  midnight   Avaters.     The 
mind   of  Gideon,   the   captain  of  Israel,   seemed  to 
loose  itself  in  intense  and  painful  thoughts.     Amid 
feelings  so  peculiar,  he  was  commanded  to  bring  his     |j 
soldiers  to  the  well,  or  to   the  stream   which  issued 
from    it,   and  there   at  a  given   sign,   select  those, 
whom   God  had  chosen  to  go  up  against  the  camp  of 
Midian.     Three  hundred  only,  of  the  remaining  ten 


J 


HAROD.  141 

thousand,  lapped  the  water  like  dogs,  which  indica- 
ting haste  and  impatience,  were  alone  deemed  com- 
petent to  go  up  against  the  foe.     It  must  have  been 
a  severe  trial  to  the  faith  and  courage  of  Gideon, 
when  God  bade  him  let  all  the  rest  of  the  people,  but 
those  three  hundred   "go,  every  man  to  his  place." 
Thus  strangely  was  the  already  diminished  army  of 
Gideon,  purged  and  reduced,  and  that  too,  as  prepar- 
atory to  the  anticipated  rencounter.     It  can  but  be  in- 
teresting, to  see  how  this  little  despicable  regiment, 
on   which   the  stress  of  the  action  must  lie,   were 
equipped  for  the  singularly  important  combat.     The 
cashiered  regiments  leaving  their  trumpets  behind ; 
these  were  directed  to  be  employed  as  weapons  of 
war,  which  with  the  stratagie  of  the  pitchers  and 
lights,  (Judges,  vii:  xvi,  xxii,)  were  the  only  means 
employed  by  Jehovah,  for  the  rescue  of  his  people. 
That  same  night,  by  direction  of  God,  Gideon  and 
Phurah  his  servant,  went  down  disguised  to  the  camp 
of  the  Midianites,  and  whilst  there,  heard  a  soldier 
tell  his  fellow,  that  he  dreamed  a  ^^cake  of  harley- 
hread  tumbled  into  the  host  of  Midian,  and  came 
unto  a  tent,  and  smote  it  that  it  fell.''     Encouraged 
by  this  unmistakable  evidence  of  the  Divine  aid,  he 
returned  to  his  camp,  and  aroused  the  three  hundred 
warriors  for  the  combat.     As  decerniined,  with  lights 


142  IIAROD. 

concealed,  and  trumpets  unblown,  they  were  to  enter 
stealthily  into  the  camp  of  their  foes,  and  at  the 
signal  blast  of  his  trumpet,  in  the  midst  of  the  camp, 
the  pitchers  w"ere  to  be  broken,  the  lights  revealed, 
and  the  trumpets  sounded,  as  they  rushed  to  the 
onset,  "whilst  the  watchword,  "the  sword  of  the 
Lord  and  of  Gideon,"  rang  out  beneath  the  stillness 
of  the  midnight  heavens.  Scarce  were  the  words 
uttered,  when  a  blaze  of  fira  flashed  through  the 
tented  encampment,  lighting  up  the  whole  valley 
around.  The  encampment  was  completely  environed 
by  three  hundred  watch  fires,  by  each  of  which  re- 
flected in  the  glaring  light,  stood  the  tall  erect  form 
of  one  01  the  "men  of  Gideon."  It  is  impossible 
to  conceive  the  startling  and  thrilling  eff"ect,  which 
this  sudden  illumination — as  if  by  magic — produced 
upon  the  bold  and  terrified  enemies  of  Israel. 
Their  horses  stood  still,  paralized  with  affright,  and 
before  them,  behind  them,  and  on  every  side,  their 
eyes  rested  upon  the  deadly  sword,  pointing  mena- 
cingly towards  their  breasts.  It  is  impossible  to 
describe  the  carnage  of  that  dreadful  night.  Israe* 
victorious,  routed  and  pursued  the  enemy,  from  which 
defeat  they  never  recovered.  The  memory  of  thi 
fearfully  glorious  night,  and  the  well  of  Harod  are 
"one  and  inseparable." 


s 


JACOB'S  WELL. 


There  is  perhaps  no  country  of  the  Holy  land, 
more  fruitful  of  interest  to  the  student  of  scripture 
history,  than  that  of  Samaria.  Receiving  its  name 
from  the  city  of  Samaria,  formerly  the  capital  of 
the  Kings  of  Israel,  which  built  by  Omri,  was  prob- 
ably founded  about  the  year  A.  M.  3085.  Scarce 
any  city,  with  whose  history  we  are  familiar,  has 
been  more  frequently  subjected  to  a  change  of  civil 
authority,  or  been  the  theatre  of  more  dreadful  car- 
nage. Besieged  by  Benhaddad,  king  of  Assyria,  it 
was  reduced  to  great  extremity,  but  was  miraculously 
delivered,  according  to  the  prediction  of  the  prophet 
Elisha.  It  was,  however,  afterwards  taken  by  Sal- 
amaneser,  king  of  Assyria;  who,  after  a  siege  of 
three  years,  carried  away  the  ten  tribes,  and  in  their 
stead  sent  a  colony  from  divers  nations,  who  incor- 
porating their  superstitions  with  the  truths  of  Juda- 
ism, made  a  most  spurious  religion.  Laid  in  ruins 
by  one  of  the  family  of  the  Maccabees,  it  was  thus 
found  by  Herod  the  Great,  who  being  pleased  with 
its  situation,  re-built  it  in  a  stately  manner,  adorning 
it   with   fine    marble   pillars    and    other    sculpture. 

12* 


144  Jacob's  well- 

Agrippa  obtaining  the  city  of  Caligula,  the  inhabi' 
tants  took  part  with  the  Romans,  under  the  Emperor 
Vespasian,  by  which  they  avoided  the  calamities  vhich 
fell  upon  the  country  in  consequence  of  the  war. 
Afterwards,  however  by  adopting  other  politics,  they 
with  the  Jews,  were  exterminated  from  the  the  coun- 
try by  Adrian ;  since  which  the  city  has  gone  into 
decay.  At  present,  few  in  number,  there  are  still 
some  of  this  people  resident  in  the  inconsiderable 
town  of  Naplous,  the  site  of  the  ancient  Samaria; 
who,  retaining  their  priests  and  their  religion,  still 
offer  sacrifices,  observe  the  Sabbath,  and  keep  the 
law  of  Moses,  with  much  strictness,  as  they  yet 
claim  to  be  of  the  family  of  Aaron. 

There  is  perhaps  no  event  occurring  in  the  life  of 
the  Savior,  concerning  which  so  much  has  been  spoken 
and  written,  as  his  interview  with  the  woman  at  the 
well  of  Samaria.  An  event  marked  by  the  concur- 
rence of  as  many  important  circumstances  as  any  of 
which  we  can  form  a  conception.  Precious  and 
important  as  was  every  moment  of  the  Savior's  time, 
he  still  might  improve  the  season  of  weariness  to 
enlighten  and  instruct  a  poor  woman  who  greatly 
needed  his  advice.  As  v/omen  were,  in  his  time, 
treated  as  in  every  respect  inferior  to  the  opposite 
sex,  it  would  seem   he  embraced  every  opportunity 


JACon's  WKUh.  145 

to  elevate  their  condition  and  improve  their  morals. 

It  is  probable,  that  the  first  idea  of  a  universal 
and  permanent  provision  for  the  poor  and  destitute, 
as  inclusive  of  the  moral  and  mental  elevation  of 
the  female  constitution,  originated  with  Christ  and 
his  Apostle,  and  that  it  continued  a  work  of  the 
church,  and  not  at  all  of  the  state,  down  to  a  com. 
paratively  recent  period.  Here  we  see  the  christian 
dispensation  becoming  the  basis  of  a  new  and  benig- 
nant social  order,  excluding  fraud  and  wrong,  discord 
and  opposition,  and  where  the  highest  attainable 
good  is  striven  for  and  secured.  The  undoubted 
experience  of  ascetic  communities  has  attested  the 
comparatively  developed  truth,  that  there  is  no  longer 
a   necessity,  if  indeed  an    excuse,  for  social  evil. 

Though  the  example  of  our  Savior  has  been  but  too 
imperfectly  followed,  we  are  induced  to  hope  that 
time  of  social  degradation  is  at  an  end;  whilst  the 
effort  and  knowledge  of  an  improvement  in  this  par- 
ticular, will  soon  linger  only  as  a  fearful  tradition. 
The  well  of  Samaria,  being  inseparably  associated 
with  the  important  and  interesting  conversation  of 
Jesus  with  the  woman  who  came  to  draw  water,  may 
be  viewed  as  a  practical  illustration  of  his  views  on 
the  ''sphere  and  duties"  of  the  sex.  He  whom 
angels  worship  and  archangels  adore,  thought  it  not 


146  jagob'h  well. 

unworthy  the  high  position  of  the  world's  benefactor, 
to  converse,  at  this  opportune  moment,  with  an 
obscure  female,  for  even  the  vien  of  whose  nation 
the  Jew  had  the  most  singular  contempt.  We  can 
but  admire  that  mind,  which,  while  it  scaled  the 
universe  and  read  the  stars,  could  thus  stand  above 
and  beyond  the  farthest  verge  of  man's  resarch,  and 
hear  aloft  the  remotest  strains  of  music  which  swells 
through  the  heavenly  spheres,  and  yet  have  a  heart 
which  could  sympathise  with  all  the  phases  of  indi- 
gent humanity.  So  that  in  his  solitary  communings 
beneath  the  midnight  heavens,  he  appeared  to  have 
been  but  qualifying  himself  to  mingle  with  the  every- 
day multitude,  and  proclaim  to  the  clogged  ear  and 
heart  of  the  desolate  and  mourning,  in  tones  warm 
and  sweet  as  the  hope  of  pardon,  that  the  chord  of 
sympathy  could  be  reached  only  by  the  voice  of  Jesus. 
From  the  mountain  top,  where  he  sat  in  the  kind- 
lings of  the  morning;  from  the  watch-tower,  where 
he  had  gazed  into  the  serene  heavens,  he  came  down 
into  the  dusty,  trampled  highway,  where  encounter- 
ing the  rushing  crowd,  the  various  anxious  faces,  the 
selfish,  hollow,  husk  religion  of  the  world,  he  sent 
forth  from  every  fibre  of  his  soul  the  gladsome 
tidings  of  pardon  and  salvation.  On  such  mission 
was  he  engaged,  when  arriving  with  his  disciples  at 


Jacob's  well.  147 

the  mouth  of  the  "side  valley,"  before  the  city, 
Jesus  being  wearied  with  his  journey,  sat  down  by 
the  well,  whilst  they  "  went  away  into  the  city  to 
buy  meat."  The  simplicity  of  the  evangelist's  nar- 
rative is  striking  and  peculiar;  opening  with  the 
observation,  '•Hhere  came  a  tvoman  of  Samaria  to 
draiv  water."  From  this  request  to  drink,  sundry 
inquiries  were  suggested,  eliciting  answers  the  most 
singularly  appropriate,  by  which  she  was  convinced 
of  the  important  dignity  and  wisdom  of  the  stranger. 
If  we  except  perhaps  the  allusion  made  to  the  spir- 
ituality of  God,  and  the  necessary  correspondence 
of  his  proper  worship,  there  is  no  portion  of  his 
recorded  conversation,  so  remarkable  and  consolatory 
as  the  promise,  '''•whosoever  drinketh  of  the  water 
that  I  shall  give  him,  shall  never  thirst,  but  the 
water  that  I  shall  give  him,  shall  be  in  him  a  well  of 
water  springing  up  unto  everlasting  life;"  at  the  read- 
ing of  which  we  have  often  closed  the  book,  and 
exclaimed  with  a  gush  of  unutterable  joy, 

''  Spring  up,  O  well,  I  ever  cry, 
Spring  up  within  my  soul '  " 

The  shadows  of  the  Savior's  destiny  even  then 
began  to  fall  around  him,  whilst  a  glance  at  the  great 
picture  of  life,  confirmed  in  him  what  is  since  sug- 
gested to  the  christian,  that  self-denial  could  but  be 


148  Jacob's  well. 

remunerated  in  the  eternal  consciousness  of  a  high- 
minded  discharge  of  those  duties,  which  produce  in 
their  own  reflections,  an  adequate  recompense,  in 
the  form  of  that  peace  the  world  cannot  give,  or 
take  away.  A  few  shifting  scenes,  a  succession  of 
sentiments,  vain  regrets,  ideal  enjoyments,  and  the 
time-serving  pretender  to  divine  illumination  has 
entered  the  deep  valley  of  shadows  to  be  seen  no 
more  in  these  walks  below.  How  different  was  the 
language  and  doctrine  of  the  Savior,  as  he  sat  in 
conversation  with  the  woman  on  the  arched  chamber 
of  Jacob's  well!  The  spirituality  of  God,  and  of 
his  worship,  was  an  important  truth  which  she  was 
unaccustomed  to  hear. 

However  cheering  its  revelation  to  some,  to  us  no 
truth  is  so  unspeakably  precious,  as  the  thought  that 
he  who  drives  along  the  chariots  of  the  countless 
hosts  of  the  sky,  dwells  with  the  lowliest  of  his 
creation  on  this  dim  earth.  Whenever  we  recur  to 
our  Savior's  visit  to  this  sacred  well,  let  us  pray  that 
we  may  realize  these  truths,  as  we  first  think  of  our 
comparative  nothingness,  and  then  our  positive  con- 
nection with  universal  life  and  intelligence.  Jerome 
chose  to  live  in  this  valley,  that  the  sight  of  these 
places  might  aifect  him  the  more  with  scripture  sto- 
ries.    We  may,   in  imagination,  choose  to  frequent 


JORDAN.  149 

this   place,  to   be  reminded    that  there  ia   but  one 
source  of  divine  beauty  and  joy. 


JORDAN-A  RIYEK. 


It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  June ,  the  rising  sun 
was  just  tinging  the  summits  of  the  rocky  cliffs, 
which,  like  giant  fortresses,  studded  at  frequent  in- 
tervals, the  green  shores  of  the  beautiful  Delaware. 
Here  and  there  a  truant  ray  rested  on  the  lofty  spire 
of  some  towering  dome,  and  reflected  from  its  gilded 
cross,  gleamed  forth  through  the  morning  mist,  like 
a  beautiful  but  solitary  star,  pausing  to  gaze  on  the 
glories  of  the  morning  landscape.  A  sabbath  still- 
ness, broken  only  by  the  sweet  and  fitful  warblings 
of  the  wild-wood  songsters,  or  the  thoughtless  hum- 
ming of  the  loitering  pedestrian,  reigned  over  the 
green  hills  and  broad  vales  surrounding  the  populous 
city.  On  such  a  morning  as  this,  a  few  brief  sum- 
mer? gone  by,  a  man,  habited  in  the  peculiar  style  of 
the  clerical  profession,  whose  garb  somevrhat  soiled, 
indicated   the  neglect  or  absence  of  the  tcilet,    sat 


150  JOKDAN. 

leaning  against  the  stern  of  one  of  those  small  boats 
which  are  constantly  seen  upon  every  considerable 
river,  and  which  manned  by  a  couple  of  boatmen,  are 
occasionally  employed  in  conveying  passengers  from 
quarantine  to  port.  He  was  apparently  a  traveller, 
and  on  the  occasion  referred  to,  seemed  to  be  en- 
grossed whilst  being  conveyed  ashore,  by  no  earthly 
occupation,  but  to  watch  the  sparkle  of  the  waves,  as 
the  oars  dipped  lazily  into  the  water,  only  starting 
from  his  dreamy  attitude,  as  the  boat  struck  the 
wharf,  when  the  boatmen  looking  in  each  others 
faces,  appeared  surprised  at  his  delay  in  quitting 
their  aquatic  vehicle.  Looking  round  him  for  the 
moment,  he  seemed  to  wonder  at  the  numerous  glance 
of  familiar  faces,  who  coming  hither  to  welcome  his 
safe  return  to  his  native  land,  were  standing  in 
amaze  at  his  singular  inattention  to  their  presence. 
A  sudden  emotion,  too  strong  to  be  resisted,  chained 
his  advancing  step,  when,  turning  once  more  to 
fflance  at  the  river,  over  whose  smoothe  surface  he 
had  been  silently  borne,  he  paused  as  if  summoning 
strength  to  quit  the  vessel,  when  a  little  gleeful 
voice,  coming  from  amid   the  crowd,  broke  upon  his 

ear,  with  the  exclamation,  "Dr.  A has  been 

to  the  river  Jordan."  Yes,  he  had  visited  this  river, 
antl  now  that  he  quitted   its  banks  forever,  he   could 


JOHl>A.\.  l^J 

but  revert  to  the  scenes  of  thrilling  adventure, 
through  which  he  had  passed,  as  the  murmuring 
ripple  of  his  native  river  fell  in  sacred  harmony  upon 
his  ear.  Often,  in  his  solitary  journeyings  on  his 
native  soil,  and  in  his  brief  sojournings  in  the  crowd- 
ed cities  of  other  lands,  did  the  image  of  this  noble 
river,  winding  along  over  mossy  stones,  beneath  the 
trunks  of  prostrate  trees,  and  between  its  wild  banks, 
mingle  in  the  visions  of  his  midnight  slumbers.  Ri- 
sing in  the  mountains  of  Lebanon,  in  the  northern 
extremity  of  Canaan,  the  Jordan,  after  running  six- 
teen o;  eighteen  miles,  spreads  out  into  a  flat  marshy 
place,  forming  the  lake  Semechon,  called  in  Scripture, 
the  waters  of  Merom.  Leaving  this  lake,  and  running 
about  fifteen  miles  further,  it  enters  the  Sea  of 
Galilee,  or  Tiberias,  from  the  southern  end  of  which, 
it  again  issues,  and  after  a  course  still  South,  of 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  further,  it  finally 
empties  into  the  Dead  Sea.  Though  the  river  an- 
ciently overflowed  its  banks  in  the  spring,  when  the 
snows  were  melting  on  Mount  Lebanon,  it  appears 
from  the  accounts  of  modern  travellers,  that  these 
floods  are  now  less,  and  more  unfrequent.  Covered 
as  the  banks  are,  with  trees  and  weeds,  under  which 
lions  and  other  wild  beasts  hide,  the  allusion  to  their 
being   driven    out  by  the  rise  in  it*   waters,  by  the 


152  JORDAN. 

prophet  Jeremiah,  is  not  among  the  least  of  its  most 
pleasing  reminiscences.  Below  the  Sea  of  Tiberias, 
travellers  describe  the  river  as  being  generally,  but 
twenty  or  thirty  yards  wide,  passing  through  a  plain 
which  according  to  Josephus,  was  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  long,  and  fifteen  wide.  Within  this  en- 
circled valley,  many  of  the  most  important  events  of 
Jewish  history  are  said  to  have  transpired.  Events, 
which,  when  they  occurred,  thrilled  the  nation  with 
alternate  pulsations  of  sorrow  and  joy.  Here  were 
enacted  scenes,  strangely  in  contrast  with  each  other, 
and  our  conceptions  of  what  should  have  formed  an 
appropriate  association  with  this  sacred  stream. 
Scenes,  which  among  its  banks  and  winding  shores, 
shall  continue  to  thrill  alike  the  heart  of  the  Jew 
and  the  christian,  to  the  most  distant  generations  of 
time. 

The  retired  timidity  \thich  seemed  to  characterize 
the  speculations  of  the  learned  among  the  Jews, 
which  like  a  ray  of  moonlight  peering  through  the 
crevice  of  closed  curtains,  upon  some  object  within, 
was  now  scattering  itself,  and  was  being  spread  over 
the  indistinct  personifications  of  prophecy,  like  an 
angel's  wing,  as  the  visible  promise  of  protection  to 
the  redeemed.  The  expectant  Israelite,  happy  in 
the  increased  creation  of  spiritual  sunshine  within, 


JORDAN.  153 

seemed  now  to  feel  an  overflowing  fountain  of  con- 
solation springing  up  within  his  soul.  The  cedars  of 
Lebanon  assumed  a  holiday  dress  of  perpetual  ver- 
dure ;  the  golden  sheaves  stood  up  in  the  fields, 
whilst  the  flowering  shrubs  and  twining  vines,  appear- 
ed flaunting  proudly  in  their  gorgeous  tinge  of  purple 
and  gold.  The  crumbling  arch,  not  of  a  ruined  cas- 
tle, or  time-worn  tower,  but  that  which  supported 
the  ancient  and  venerable  tower  of  his  spiritual  edi- 
fice, was  decaying  to  the  fall.  Resting  in  antiquated 
glory,  on  the  spot  consecrated  by  the  offering  and 
faith  of  Abraham,  he  began  but  indistinctly,  to  hear 
the  murmur  of  "Siloa's  brook,"  which  leaping  up 
from  its  concealment  beneath  a  ledge  of  gray  rock, 
made  but  a  dreamy,  though  delicious  melody.  The 
anticipated  time,  when  he  who  had  said,  "he  would 
come  and  would  not  tarry"  had  arrived.  The  nation 
diffidently  attempting  to  peer  through  the  thick  clouds 
which  obscured  the  stream  of  prophecy,  Avere  thrilled 
only  by  the  falling  of  its  current  over  the  mysterious 
and  rocky  elevations  of  accumulating  centuries.  In 
the  midst  of  this  hesitating,  though  general  expecta- 
tion, a  voice  unlike  that  they  were  accustomed  to 
hear,  rang  out  over  the  wilderness  of  Judea,  in  ac- 
cents singularly  emphatic,  "Prepare  ye  the  way  of 
the  Lord,  make  his  paths  straight.  '     Standing  on 


154  JORDAN. 

the  banks  of  the  Jordan,  the  mysterious  being,  from 
whom  came  this  singular  announcement,  looked 
abroad  over  the  hills  and  valleys,  to  greet  the  sound 
of  approaching  footsteps,  and  to  show  his  true  and 
tender  heart,  was  impatient  to  drive  away  the  dense 
shadows,  that  he  might  glorify  God  for  the  appear- 
ance of  the  rising  sun.  Crowds  from  city  and  ham- 
let, town  and  country,  attracted  by  this  strange  and 
mysterious  personage,  came  pouring  down  the  steeps 
which,  like  giant  watchers,  overlooked  the  "flashing 
jewelry"  of  Jordan's  waves.  Labor,  business,  pleas- 
ure was  forsaken  in  the  eager  desire  to  obtain  an 
audience  with  the  "Elias"  of  prophecy.  In  the  hazy 
light  of  morn,  as  also  when  twilight  shadows  obscu- 
red the  last  lingering  sunbeam,  myriads  waited  on 
the  ministry  of  John.  The  thousands  of  Israel 
paused  in  glad  astonishment,  on  the  banks  of  this 
noble  river,  in  hourly  anticipation  of  the  fulfilment 
of  his  prophecies.  The  time  fixed,  as  the  consum- 
mation of  their  wishes  had  now  arrived..  The  long 
promised  Savior  was  to  be  revealed.  Angels  had 
already  sung  their  song  of  congratulation  over  the 
heights  of  Bethlehem,  until  their  echoing  chorus 
awaked  the  throbbing  sympathies  of  an  expectant 
world.  Hitherto,  they  had  but  roamed  its  green 
margin,  with  zealous  ardor,  and  radiant  human  coun- 


JORDAN,  165 

tenances,  to  deliver  their  encouraging  messages. 
Henceforth,  in  garments  of  dazzling  whiteness  and 
glittering  crowns,  they  were  to  attune  their  golden 
harps  by  the  banks  of  the  crystal  river  of  life.  The 
spiritual  atmosphere  of  the  world,  within  the  deli- 
cious haze  of  which  spirits  might  sink  away  in 
dreamy  slumber,  was  now  assuming  an  increasing 
glow,  as  if  mingling  with  floods  of  celestial  glory. 
The  spell  of  heaven,  causing  men  to  wonder  amid 
Beeming  delights,  awaked  the  voice  of  pleasure, 
which  heard  in  one  continuous  strain,  sounded  on 
grand  and  anthem-like,  as  from  the  sea  of  life  to  the 
shore  of  eternity. 

Amid  such  scenes,  and  under  such  circumstances, 
He,  of  whom  "all  the  prophets  bare  witness,"  was 
presented  to  John's  enrapt  and  expectant  auditors. 
Knowing  the  impjjbpriety  of  two  great  rivals  remain- 
ing on  earth,  to  divide  the  attention,  and  induce 
feelings  of  partisan  rivalry,  he  appeared  impatient 
to  close  his  own  ministry,  that  every  degree  of  con- 
fidence might  be  placed  on  the  Redeemer.  As  the 
moon  still  lingering  at  opening  dawn,  conceals  itself 
in  the  brighter  atmosphere,  by  which  it  is  surrounded 
so  this  eminent  prophet,  who  only  shone  in  the  ad- 
vancing scintillations  of  the  sun    of  righteousness, 

re-iavested  his  exit  with  the  light  of  that  day,  on 
13* 


>-'-'*6 


156  JORDAN. 

which  it  rose  full  orbed  on  the  world.  Coming  down 
from  the  mountains,  greeted  by  cheerful  sounds, 
swelling  out  far  and  wide  around  him  ;  he  stood  amid 
dense  and  enveloping  mists,  through  which  the  clear 
river  flashed  like  lightning  amid  parting  clouds ;  he 
was  pointed  out  to  the  expectant  gaze  of  countless 
thousands,  as  the  "Lamb  of  God  which  taketh  away 
the  sin  of  the  world.  Breathing  the  pure  air  of  his 
native  mountains,  he  descended  to  the  multitude, 
beneath  its  preserving  and  expansive  influence,  en- 
circled in  such  clouds  of  Holy  light,  as  will  be  for- 
ever sufficient  to  invert  his  Disciples  in  its  folds  of 
celestial  radiance.  Divided  by  the  advancing  hosts 
of  Israel,  and  successively  by  the  prophets  Elijah 
and  Elisha,  and  the  theatre  of  the  respective  initia- 
tory ministrations  of  "the  Baptist"  and  of  Christ, 
this  river  can  but  be  interesting  to  the  pious  of  every 
age  and  clime.  Emblem  of  death,  of  triumph  and 
of  sorrow,  of  deliverance  and  of  captivity,  the  cross- 
ing of  its  "billows,"  whether  in  life  or  death,  will 
ever  be  an  event  of  singular  importance. 


KIDRON-A   BROOK. 


A  glance  at  the  great  picture  of  life  will  show, 
that  while  the  duties  of  self-denial,  and  the  sacrifice 
of  passion  to  principle,  are  but  seldom  rewarded, 
that  the  internal  consciousness  of  a  high-minded  dis- 
charge of  our  duty,  produces  in  our  own  reflections 
an  adequate  recompense,  in  the  form  of  that  peace 
which  the  world  cannot  give  or  take  away.  When 
we  gaze  upon  the  vast  panorama  of  sorrow,  we  are 
prepared,  in  affection  and  pursuit,  to  look  with  a, 
bright  philosophy  on  the  providences  of  Heaven. 
Through  its  influence,  we  will  cherish  a  love  of  those 
true  and  beautiful  revelations,  which  teach  us  we 
have  little  more  of  life's  wealth  to  ask,  and  few  of 
its  privations  to  fear.  As  we  approach  the  period  of 
dissolution,  when  long  trains  of  mournful  reflections 
come  trooping  over  our  minds,  it  is  but  natural  we 
should  inquire,  whither  goes  the  soul  when  the  last 
gleam  hath  faded  from  the  eye,  and  the  stern  gray 
twilight  of  the  grave  hath  settled  on  each  quiescent 
feature.  With  such  reflections  we  instinctively  real- 
ize the  condition  of  the  soul  when,  wrapped  in  un- 
consciousness, its  physical  organs  refuse  any  longer 


158  KIDRON. 

to  be  the  interpreters  of  its  will.  We  appear  to 
realize  the  dawning  of  a  areat  day,  which  shall  give 
another  embodiment  to  the  newly  awakened  spirit. 

The  conten^plation  of  that  period,  when  we  shall 
be  called  upon  to  quit  the  world,  with  all  its  stirring 
interests  and  warm  companionships,  its  high  promi- 
ses and  lofty  deeds,  for  a  state  that  has  never  yet 
had  one  ray  thrown  into  its  darkness,  makes  us  feel 
the  impenetrable  clouds  in  which  we  are  wrapt ; 
whilst  our  heart-strings,  like  the  harp,  vibrating  to 
viewless  fingers,  trembles  with  a  thrill  of  strange, 
unwonted  melody.  Think  not  that  disembodied  in- 
telligences never  commune  with  those  still  fettered 
to  the  dust.  Our  eyes  may  not  see  them,  nor  the 
ear  reveal  their  presence;  yet,  when  the  chains  of 
clay  are  falling  from  the  soul,  and,  fluttering  on  its 
unpractised  pinions,  it  seeks  to  elevate  its  affections, 
upbuild  the  holy  purpose,  and  strengthen  the  pure 
resolve,  they  hover  round,  to  cheer,  teuch  and  up- 
lift us. 

We  would  not  commend  a  perpetual  reference  to 
the  future,  as  alone  possessing  the  elements  of  satis- 
faction. This  would  effectually  blind  our  vision  to 
the  beautiful  revelations  of  Deity,  everywhere  ex- 
hibited. Our  ear,  only  attuned  to  the  soft  melody 
of  unearthly  strains,  would  catch  but  the  faint  whis- 


KIDRON.  159 

perings  of  nature's  everlasting  hymn,  which  blends 
in  the  harmony  of  founds,  from  the  soft  breathing 
of  the  growing  violet  to  the  rushing  of  the  wheelings 
of  stupendous  worlds.  When  greatly  oppressed,  we 
may  not  keep  along  the  uninstructive  path  of  human 
sorrow,  wrapped  up  in  the  selfishness  of  conscious 
suiFering.  Then  ours  is  the  duty  and  privilege  to 
tread  on  the  silvery  embroidery  of  the  wide-spread 
canvass  of  space,  on  which  the  love  of  God  will  be 
alike  exhibited  in  the  tint  of  the  rainbow,  as  in  the 
smile  which  illumines  the  stern  features  of  death. 
This  disposition  will  convert  the  universe  into  a 
temple,  arcled  with  the  sparkling  jewelry  of  the 
heavens;  so  that,  whether  we  retire  to  the  place 
where  the  "Lord  lau,''  or  look  from  Kidron's  vale 
to  the  heights  of  Olivet,  and  from  thence  gaze 
adoringly  on  the  serene  sky  above,  we  shall  encour- 
agingly hope  for  deliverance  from  wrong,  as  we 
receive  strength  to  labor  in  the  accomplishment  of 
our  destiny. 

Amid  the  fierce  conflict  of  sorrow  atid  passion, 
we  shall  see  through  the  veil  of  twilight,  which, 
while  filling  our  spacious  temple,  will  permit  us  to 
behold  the  coming  of  a  more  bright  and  blissful 
morning.  Thus  did  our  Savior.  Retiring  to  the 
hrook    Kidron,  which,  winding  on  the  eastern  sid^ 


160  KIDRON. 

of  Jerusalem,  through  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat, 
echoed  its  soft  and  dreamy  melody  amid  dark  groves 
of  the  rustling  palm;  there,  when  the  shadows  of 
his  destiny  began  to  linger  about  his  pathway,  he 
held  sweet,  sustaining  communion  with  the  spirit 
world.  Though  comprehending  within  the  range  of 
his  vision  the  extended  amplitude  of  that  universe, 
with  which  he  held  strange  Snd  mysterious  converse, 
he  yet  chose  to  retire  to  this  secluded  spot,  where 
hia  active  energies,  instead  of  being  lulled  to  slumber 
with  the  malody  of  those  chords  within,  that  ever 
thrill  to  the  beautiful  and  sublime,  received  wisdom 
from  the  soft-breathed  air. 

Thou  soft  gliding  Kidroii,  by  thy  silver  sireams, 
The  Savior  at  uidnight,  when  Cynthia's  pale  beams 
Shone  bright  on  the  vi'aters,  would  frequently  stray, 
And  loose  in  thy  murmurs  the  toils  of  the  day. 

The  vale  of  Kidron,  the  retiracy  of  which  sympa- 
thized strangely  with  the  Redeemer's  sorrow,  from 
whose  shades  he  came  but  to  depart  to  familiar  skies, 
must  ever  continue  an  object  of  special  interest  to 
the  sorrowing  disciple. 


KISHON-A  RIVER. 


It  has  been  frequently  remarked,  that  a  character 
of  a  high  and  lofty  stamp  is  degraded,  rather  than 
exalted,  by  an  attempt  to  reward  virtue  with  temporal 
prosperity.  From  which  it  is  supposed  to  be  dange- 
rous to  teach,  that  either  rectitude  of  conduct  and 
of  principle  are  either  naturally  allied  with,  or  ade- 
quately rewarded  by  the  gratification  of  our  passions, 
or  the  attainment  of  our  wishes.  Passion  and  pref- 
erence may  induce  the  performance  of  deeds  which, 
while  they  extort  the  applause  of  men,  can  never 
suborn  the  harmonious  testimony  of  reason  and 
conscience.  To  secure  the  felicity  of  their  concurrent 
approbation,  we  must  subordinate  the  impulse  of  will 
to  the  decision  of  a  truthful  and  enlightened  judg- 
ment. The  subjection  of  our  lives  to  the  impulse  of 
passion  is,  in  reality,  persuading  ourselves  that  fiction 
is  to  be  preferred  to  fact — that  to  feel,  is  better  than 
to  enjoy.  The  government  of  our  lives,  on  principles 
contrary  to  reason  and  religion,  Avill  subject  us  to 
great  inconvenience,  from  having  a  distorted  view  of 
those  objects  upon  which  we  place  our  affections. 
Not    so,   hoAvever,   with    the    individual    with   whom 


1(J2  KISHON. 

conscience  and  reason  are  supreme.  He  mistakes 
not  the  dream  for  the  reality,  the  shadow  for  the 
substance,  the  mere  parhelion  for  the  luminous  sun 
of  righteousness,  whose  beams  of  light  and  love  are 
reflected,  full -orbed,  on  the  meridian  sky. 

The  mission  of  reason,  distinct  from  passion,  has 
reference  to  all  the  powers  Avithin ;  and  whilst  sanc- 
tifying all  the  relationships  of  life,  is  eminently 
serviceable  to  the  social  feelings  in  awakening  the 
sympathies  and  endearing  the  humanities  of  a  chari- 
table cireer.  Religion  aids  us  in  reviewing  the  past, 
in  endeavoring  to  solve  the  mystery — how  that 
which  has  been  is  produced,  what  tributes  have 
imparted  fullness  to  the  streams  that  run  clear  or 
turbid,  what  now  is  pouring  into  them,  and  what 
their  course  will  probably  be.  Her  presence  is 
observable  in  the  conduct  of  the  good  and  great  of 
every  age,  whenever  there  were  duties  to  be  rendered, 
and  wherever  the  good,  the  true  and  the  useful  were 
struggled  for  and  obtained.  Heed  we  then  the 
admonitory  voice  of  conscience  and  duty,  which 
will  cause  our  souls  to  speak  out  the  solemn  and 
gracious  accents  of  pardon ;  and,  like  Jesus  standing 
amid  the  vanities  of  Israel,  our  example  will  speak 
with  the  authority  of  truth,  equity  and  love,  fejt  and 
acted  in  all  the  relations  of  life. 


There  never  was  a  time,  in  ull  probability,  in  the 
history  of  the  world,  when  there  was  less  respect 
shown  to  practical  piety,  than  in  the  days  of  the 
prophet  Elijah.  From  the  prince  to  the  peasant, 
from  the  palace  to  the  cot,  the  unrestrained  prosti- 
tution of  their  powers  in  idol  worship,  appears  to 
have  produced  a  general  contempt  for  true  and 
spiritual  worship.  The  eye  of  the  prophet,  pained 
by  the  universal  neglect  of  the  altars  of  God,  seemed 
ever  intent  on  beholding  the  dense  shadows  and  nox- 
ious mists ;  whilst,  from  want  of  faith,  ho  lacked 
the  ability  to  peer  through  the  clouds,  and  glorify 
God  for  the  mission  of  the  rising'sun.  Influenced  by 
the  light  of  revelation,  accustomed  in  all  liis  ideas 
to  associate  religion  and  morality,  adopting  the 
divine  will  and  oath  as  the  guide  of  his  conscience 
and  the  standard  of  his  practice,  the  prophet  could 
not  sympathize  with  the  transplanted  though  fabled 
powers  of  Jupiter,  the  eternal  jealousies  of  Juno, 
the  craft  and  stratagem  of  Mercury,  or  the  corrupt 
licentiousness  of  Venus.  Discouraged  in  the  com- 
parative failure  of  repeated  attempts  at  moral  refor- 
mation of  the  nation,  he  seemed  disinclined  to  a 
renewal  of  his  efforts ;  forgetting  that  such  men  as 
he  were  needed  to  strip  off  the  cerements  of  error, 

to   preach   the  truth,  to  call  the   nation   to  duty,  to 
14 


164  KISHON. 

encourage  the  hopes  of  the  desponding,  and  deliver 
the  oppressed  from  those  wrongs  which  interfered 
in  the  accomplishment  of  their  destiny. 

Mount  Carmel,  near  the  base  of  which  flows  the 
river  Kishon,  was  the  theatre  on  which  confusion 
was  brought  upon  the  enemies  of  God.  Upon  the 
banks  of  the  one  the  men  of  Israel,  at  the  command 
of  Elijah,  had  slain  the  prophets  of  Baal,  mingling 
their  blood  with  its  waters ;  and  on  the  summit  of 
the  other  God  had  sent  down  fire,  to  consume  the 
sacrifice,  to  the  justification  of  the  prophet.  These 
occurrences  have  naturally  magnified  this  river  in 
our  estimation,  which  will  carry  along  with  its  cease- 
less flow  the  memory  of  these  great  and  important 
achievements. 

This  stream  will  ever  perpetuate  the  truth,  that 
the  "servant  of  the  Lord,"  coming  from  the  forests 
where  he  has  communed  Avith  nature  and  with  God, 
is  but  being  prepared  to  come  forth  into  the  dusty, 
trampled  highway,  where  mingling  with  the  rushing 
crowd,  he  is  prepared  to  rebuke  the  selfish  striving, 
the  hollow  friendships,  and  the  dry-husk  religion  of 
the  world. 


KANAH-A  BROOK. 


Everything  is  interesting,  that  relates  to  the 
history  of  Israel.  A  people  retaining  their  distinc- 
tive and  peculiar  character,  under  sad  reverses  of 
fortune,  and  in  a  state  of  exile  from  their  "father 
land,"  will  ever  be  a  marvel  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  Whilst  nations  in  point  of  grandeur  and 
political  importance,  more  renowned  than  they,  are 
extinct,  and  nought,  but  a  few  remains  of  architec- 
tural beauty  exhibit  their  former  splendor ;  the 
Hebrew  retains  that  character  and  feeling,  which 
distinguished  him  in  the  days  of  his  country's  glory. 
Retaining  the  creed  and  worship  of  his  fathers  ; 
wherever  found,  he  has  the  same  attachment  for  the 
rites  and  ceremonies  of  the  ancient  ritual.  Unlike 
Christianity,  which,  when  the  seat  of  govermient 
was  removed  by  Constantino  from  Rome  to  Constan- 
tinople, gave  a  sensible  preponderance  to  the  Gre- 
cian districts  of  the  Empire,  and  caused  the  ecclesi- 
astical determinations  of  the  Greek  Church  to  be  re- 
ceived with  respect  and  submission.  Judaism  always 
respected  the  memory  of  its  capital,  and  subjected 
all  to  its  authority,  though   "trodden  down  of  the 


166  KANAH. 

Gentiles."  In  every  act  of  devotion,  under  what- 
ever circumstances  performed,  tlie  Jew  was  wont  to 
imagine  the  splendid  architecture  of  the  temple,  as 
encircling  him  to  catch  the  fervent  breathings  of  his 
saddened  soul.  Turning  to  the  land  of  his  fathers, 
he  prom.ises  to  himself  a  time,  when  delivered  from 
his  oppressors,  he  shall  again  be  reinstated  in  the 
home  of  his  heart,  the  Jerusalem  of  his  joy,  where 
he  shall  be  doomed  ho  more  to 

" IVrinder  icithering  by, 


In  other  lands  to  die.'''' 

Sad  as  is  their  condition  now,  they  were  formerly 
chargeable,  with  carelessness  or  cowardice,  in  defence 
of  their  country's  rights  and  interests.  The  re- 
proach of  God  rests  upon  the  Ephraimites,  that  they 
did  not  drive  out  the  Canaanites  from  Gerar,  but 
foolishly  hoped  to  satisfy  the  law  by  putting  them 
under  tribute.  This  capital  error,  instead  of  res- 
training them  from  idolatry,  as  the  seqael  shows,  in- 
duced them  to  fall  into  it  themselves.  The  practical 
and  important  lesson  furnished  by  their  conduct, 
should  be  heeded  by  all  christians,  who  hope  by  a 
compromise  with  their  adversaries,  to  secure  undis- 
turbed repose.  Strange  indeed,  was  their  forgetful- 
ness.  Strange,  that  with  the  memory  of  the  Divine 
command,  and  almost  within  view  of  that  Sinai,  from 


KANAH.  167 

whence  the  Spirit  of  liberty  proclaimed — "Thou 
shalt  no  longer  bow  the  knee  to  kinglj  idols,"  they 
should  have  forgotten  their  pre-eminence  and  the 
commanding  mountain  eminence,  replete  with  sub- 
lime historical  recollections. 

Their  history  reminds  us,  that  whilst  oblivious  of 
their  faults,  we  may  recall  their  virtues,  which  hav- 
ing become  visible,  shine  with  radiant  lustre  in  this, 
the  dark  night  of  their  history.  Hearts  broken, 
doomed  to  insult  and  injury,  these  generous  Hebrews, 
the  world  knew  not,  ever  shunning  the  public  gaze, 
were  received  among  the  habitations  of  men,  like 
"angels  unawares."  When  Judah  and  Ephraim 
shall  no  longer  "envy  and  vex  each  other,"  we  may 
hope  that  Palestina  so  full  of  natural  beauty,  is  des- 
tined to  be  rendered  doubly  beautiful  by  the  adorn- 
ment of  Art.  Every  decoration  which  taste  can 
suggest,  or  love  bequeath,  under  the  Divine  superin- 
tendence, whether  they  be  the  flowers  of  infancy, 
or  the  sturdy  oaks  of  age,  shall  be  speedily  planted, 
while  to  and  around  them,  will  ever  cling  with  per- 
petual freshness,  the  green  vines  of  love  and  memory. 

The  brook  of  which  we  are  now  writing,  formed 
*thc  western  boundary  of  this  tribe,  and  as  such,  is  of 
interest  to  us.  Discriminating  between  acts  attribu- 
ted to  the  nation  under  this  title,  and  the  tribe  of 
14* 


168  KAINAII. 

Epliraim,  we  may  enumerate  within  its  borders,  the 
residence  of  a  Seer,  or  the  scene  of  some  importanis 
event.  In  it  was  Samaria,  long  the  capital  of  the 
dingdom  of  the  ten  tribes.  Here  too,  was  Ramah, 
Samuel's  city,  called  in  the  New  Testament,  Arima^ 
thea.  From  hence  was  Joseph,  Avho,  when  the  moon 
in  tranquil  brilliancy,  shed  a  soft  spiritual  light  upon 
the  picturesque  environs  of  Jerusalem,  went  to  per- 
form the  rites  of  sepulture,  to  the  body  of  Jesus. 
Thither  he  repaired  as  a  lone  sad  w^atcher,  whilst  no 
sound  but  the  musical  murmurs  of  the  sighing  trees, 
falling  on  the  ravished  ear,  like  the  undulations  of 
some  fairy  minstrelsy,  broke  sadly  the  intensity  of 
the  silence,  as  ever  and  anon,  the  measured  tread  of 
the  sentinel  on  the  tower,  came  ringing  on  the  ear 
with  startling  emphasis. 

Leaving  these  watchers  at  the  tomb  of  Jesus,  we 
close  the  sketch  by  asking,  can  such  a  scene,  or  the 
Ephraimite  Joseph,  whose  land  was  encircled  by  this 
brook,  ever  be  forgotten. 


SOREK-A  BROOK. 


Two  events  recorded  in  the  Bible,  occurring  &t 
the  interval  of  centuries,  have  quite  a  resemblance 
one  to  the  other,  if  indeed  the  first  did  not  typify 
the  last  more  remarkable  and  important  occurrence. 
We  refer  to  the  respective  and  luminous  announce- 
ments of  the  birth  of  Samson  and  Christ.  Both 
mothers  were  informed  of  the  event,  by  an  "angel  of 
the  Lord,"  and  both,  'A'hen  born,  were  the  appointed 
instruments  of  deliverance  and  salvation.  Both 
events  were  opportune,  and  both  as  far  as  their  mis- 
sion was  concerned,  exhibited  a  singular,  most  re- 
markable and  important  career.  Bound  by  a  super- 
stition which  had  prevailed  in  all  ages,  Manoah  sup- 
posed they  would  surely  die,  having  seen  a  vision  of 
God.  It  was  reserved  for  a  fuller  manifestation,  to 
convince  him  of  the  erroneous  impression.  At  his 
request,  the  heavenly  visitant  again  appeared.  Set- 
ting near  the  edge  of  one  of  their  fields,  just  where 
the  shadows  from  the  circling  wood,  stretched  out  in 
indication  of  declining  day,  the  Avife  of  Manoah, 
looking  up  amid  the  dark  branches  of  the  trees, 
tinged  with  occasional  gleams  of  sunlight,  beheld  an 


170  SOREK. 

object  clad  in  white,  and  luminous  with  celestial 
glory,  skimming  the  tree  tops  in  a  chariot  of  gold. 
Astonishing,  though  familiar  was  the  sight.  This 
was  that  which  had  before  communicated  the  tidings 
of  a  promised  Son.  Soon  speeding  to  her  husband 
with  the  joyful  intelligence,  he  returned,  and  inter- 
rogated that  which  he  now  knew  to  be  a  messenger 
of  love  and  not  of  feir.  Tendering  hospitality  to 
the  celestial  visitant,  it  was  declined ;  but  at  his  sug- 
gestion, a  sacrafice  was  offered  to  the  Lord,  which, 
when  the  red  light  and  flame  of  the  offering  glared 
in  the  dusky  twilight,  it  was  made  the  chariot,  which, 
while  enshrouding  his  person,  bore  him  aloft  to  his 
native  of  heaven.  No  more  did  friend  or  angel  come 
but  in  the  "fulness  of  time"  the  promised  child  was 
born.  We  now  change  the  scene.  Years  have  gone 
by.  Oppression's  iron  heel,  every  heavy,  bore  down 
with  peculiar  power  on  the  "tribes."  The  insolent 
enemies  of  Israel  have  waxed  fat  on  the  spoil  of  the 
people.  Family  after  family  have  been  massacred. 
The  midnight  heavens  glared  with  the  assassins  torch 
and  echoed  the  shriek  of  the  dying  babe  and  mother. 
The  oppressive  monotomy  of  despair,  sank  the  spir- 
its and  unnerved  the  nation's  mighty  arm.  The  wail 
of  oppression  echoed  so  long  from  the  neighboring 
hills,  that  the  sound  but  faintly  repeated  the  myriad 


SOREK.  171 

voices  of  their  woe.     Dark  as  was  the  scene,  there 
yet  was  hope;  change  we  yet  again  the  scene. 

'Twas  one  of  those  delicious  evenings,  which  occa- 
sionally interrupt  the  oppressive  heat  of  the  summer 
months.  A  cooling  shower  from  the  west  had  laid 
the  dust,  which  floating  in  clouds  through  the  air, 
diffused  its  refreshing  influence  around ;  while  the 
soft  wind,  laden  Avith  fragrant  odors,  regaled  the 
senses,  and  bathed  the  fevered  temples.  The  rain 
drops  sparkling  like  tears  over  the  gladdened  earth, 
were  soon  absorbed  in  the  smiles  of  the  sun,  as  he 
emerged  in  splendor  from  the  brilliant  shadows  that 
enveloped  him.  Soon  as  the  clouds  dispersed,  and 
nothing  was  visible  above,  but  the  arching  bright 
blue  sky,  a  young  w*oman  just  blooming  into  the  ful- 
ness and  maturity  of  virgin  loveliness ;  whose  every 
look  and  action,  awed  while  it  charmed,  might  have 
been  seen  moving  gracefully  beneath  a  shaded  grove, 
through  which,  winding  amid  verdant  banks,  mur- 
mured the  quiet  roll  of  the  ancient  brook  Sorek.  A 
short  distance  from  this  retired  walk,  where  the 
green  valley  abruptly  terminated,  at  the  base  a  slo- 
ping liill,  might  have  been  seen  a  man,  slowly  advan- 
cinf>;  toward  the  maro-in  of  the  stream.  That  man 
was  Sampson,  the  child  of  angelic  vision,  and  paren- 
tal  hope ;  the  judge   of  Israel  and  the  strength  of 


172  SOREK. 

the  nation.  A  man  whom  all  supposed  was  the 
master  of  his  passions,  and  from  whose  history  we 
learn  he  was  distinguished  in  earlier  years  for  the 
active  and  ennobling  qualities  of  a  superior  nature. 
Alone,  he  was  a  pillar,  connected  with  the  destinies 
of  this  deceitful,  artful  woman ;  he  was  as  defence- 
less as  the  grass,  to  which  the  wind  setting  fire, 
leaves  only  the  impress  of  the  burning  wherever  it 
has  passed.  Turning  upon  the  majestic  stranger, 
the  look  of  mutual  recognition,  gave  place  to  the 
animated  fever  of  her  eyes,  which  dilated  with  as- 
tonishment, and  languid  with  love,  shone  fixedly  like 
two  stars.  That  look  sealed  his  fate  !  And  contem- 
plating that  profanation  of  self,  that  suicide  of  his 
nation's  interests,  and  his  own  happiness,  to  the  de- 
ceitfulness  of  a  heathen  damsel's  smile,  seems  now 
to  raise  the  cup  of  bitterness  to  memory's  satiated 
taste,  and  veil  our  eyes  with  a  robe  of  mourning. 

Yet  with  the  golden  chalice  of  love  came  also  the 
cup  of  hatred.  Ensnared  by  the  light  of  "woman's 
eyes,"  and  subjected  to  the  tortuous  pleasure  of  her 
passions,  he  conceived  that  deep  rooted  hatred  to 
her  people,  which  led  to  such  acts  of  secret  and 
signal  vengeance.  Though  the  instruments  with 
with  which  they  sought  to  work  upon  his  passions 
were   gay,   and  their   attitudes  were   those  of  joy, 


SOREK.  173 

their  slow  and  long  drawn  notes  of  deception  stirred 
his  saddened  soul,  causing  the  hidden  chords  to 
vibrate  to  its  depths.  "  Thus  when  stripping  him  of 
his  wife,  the  offer  of  the  younger  daughter  produced 
the  withering  rebuke  which  ho  gave  the  Philistines, 
who  to  appease  hira  burnt  the  father  and  wife  with 
fire. 

Never  did  the  craft  and  artifice  of  men  work  their 
own  destruction,  so  effectually  as  in  the  case  of  the 
"lords  of  the  Philistines."  On  that  memorable  day, 
when  they  engaged  in  the  performance  of  their  ob- 
scene orgies  to  Dagon,  Sampson,  in  obedience  to  the 
anxiously  solicited  divine  permission,  bowed  against 
the  temple's  massive  pillars,  which,  falling  with 
thunder-crash,  buried  thousands  beneath  its  ruins. 
Remarkable  in  life,  singular  in  the  manner  of  his 
death,  a  type  of  Him  whose  "arm"  brought  salvation, 
the  brook  Sorek,  connected  with  his  history,  will  be 
memorable  as  one  of  the  "Sacred  Fountains  "  of  the 
Holy  Land. 


THE   lUYER  NILE. 


We  did  not  intend  to  leave  the  territory  of  Ca- 
naan, to  describe  any  of  those  streams  or  fountains 
that  have  only  a  historical  association  with  the  Holy 
Land.  There  is  one  river,  however,  which  we  can- 
not pass  by,  without  lingering  amid  the  hallowed 
and  venerable  reminiscences  Avhich  cluster  on  its 
banks.  Historically  we  cannot  enter  the  confines  of 
Israel,  without  first  viewing  the  lofty  pyramids  and 
obelisks  of  Egypt — monuments  which  probably  they 
assisted  in  erecting — and  passing  thence  by  "  the 
way"  of  the  Red  Sea.  We  would  like  to  tarry  in 
the  land  of  Goshen,  to  retrospect  the  rich  scenery 
of  its  task-cultured  and  productive  fields,  and  to 
meditate  with  joy  and  wonder,  on  the  history  of  that 
people,  whose  characteristics  are  yet  much  more 
distinct  than  their  sculptured  hieroglyphics. 

There  is  much  in  Egypt  to  interest  and  instruct, 
apart  from  this  history.  Its  tall  monuments  and 
stately  grandeur,  its  ancient  literary  renown,  comes 
up  on  the  classic  pages  of  Grecian  and  Roman 
literature.  Other  historians  than  Moses  have  spo- 
ken of  the    fame    of  Ptolemies,    of    Cambyses  and 


THE    NILE.  176 

Cleopatra.  We  are  not  now  writing  for  those,  who 
have  heard  of  the  golden-canopied  galleys  of  the 
queen,  in  the  sometimes  stale  representations  of  the 
tragedian.  We  cannot  think  that  Shakespeare  ira- 
mortalized  Mark  Antony,  or  that  Egypt  owes  much 
to  him,  for  the  tragic  coloring  with  which  he  has 
invested  the  life  and  exit  of  her  illustrious  queen. 
But  what  christian  traveller  visits  here  without  turn- 
ing away  from  these  melancholy  remains  of  decaying 
grandeur,  to  the  contemplation  of  the  history  of  that 
great  people,  who  once  thickly  crowded  the  broad 
banks  of  the  Nile?  The  natural  characteristic  of 
this  stream,  its  periodical  overflowings,  impart  to  it 
unusual  interest.  But  for  this,  those  ancient  colo- 
nies, who,  coming  from  Babel,  subsided  on  its  banks, 
would  have  gone  westward,  and  become  mingled 
with  those  who  founded  Carthage,  and  whose  de- 
scendants, scaling  the  heights  of  Mount  Atlas,  after- 
ward became  the  more  modern  rivals  and  enemies 
of  Spain. 

All  the  important  events  in  the  history  and  deliv- 
erance of  the  Jews  from  captivity,  transpired  on  its 
banks.  Here,  on  the  promulgation  of  Pharaoh's 
cruel  edict,  Moses  was  concealed  amid  the  flag 
branches  on  the  margin,  and  was  taken  hence  by  the 

Princess,  to   be  reared  in  the  family  of  the  King. 
15 


170'  TllK    NILK. 

And  here,  when  Pharaoh  woukl  not  let  "  the  people 
go,"  God  transformed  its  clear  current  into  a  stag- 
nant ocean  of  blood ;  and  over  its  dark  waves  flapped 
the  broad  wing  of  the  destroying  angel,  as  he  passed 
over  the  blood-besprinkled  door  posts  of  the  houses 
of -Israel.  With  what  humble  though  pleasing  recol- 
lections would  the  Israelites  turn  back  their  thoughts 
to  those  terrible  visitations  with  which  God  "brought 
them  forth?"  In  after  years,  when  the  two  nations 
once  more  engaged  in  combat,  or,  as  was  sometimes 
the  case,  in  some  unholy  alliance,  would  they  once 
more  launch  upon  the  broad  bosom  of  this  placid 
stream. 

What  great  and  terrible  events,  ancient  and  mod- 
ern, crowd  upon  these  annually  overflowing  shores? 
We  are  not  now  able  to  recount  those  which  only 
depend  on  the  uncertain  statements  of  prejudiced 
cotemporaries,  who  may  have  handed  down  many 
gross  misstatements.  Perhaps  no  nation,  retaining 
many  of  its  ancient  peculiarities,  has  been  brought 
so  prominently  forth  amid  the  most  exciting  scenes 
of  modern  history.  Those  great  events  are  rapidly 
fading  away,  in  the  prospective  improvements  which 
modern  civilization  suggests.  The  day  is  not  distant, 
may  indeed  bo  at  hand,  when  the  narrow,  rock- 
bound  valley  of  the  Nile  will  be  thickly  dotted  over 


THE    NILE.  ]77 

with  such  substantial  evidences  of  enterprize,  as 
cluster  thickly  on  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut  or 
the  Thnmes. 

For  a  Ions;  time  the  sources  of  the  Nile  were 
unknown ;  but  it  is  now  ascertained  to  take  its  rise 
in  the  high-lands  north  of  the  equator.  The  laqd  is 
wholly  dependent  on  the  periodical  inundations  of 
the  river.  A  rise  of  sixteen  fathoms  is  sufficient  to 
secure  the  prosperity  of  the  country.  "  Such,  how- 
ever, is  the  regularity  of  nature,  and  such  the  faith- 
fulness of  God,  that  for  thousands  of  years,  with 
but  few  and  partial  exceptions,  these  inundations 
have,  in  essential  particulars,  been  the  same."  Du- 
ring the  overflow  the  land  is  literally  inundated,  and 
has  the  appearance  of  a  sea  dotted  with  islands. 
Wherever  the  waters  reach  abundance  springs  forth. 
The  husbandman  has  scarcely  more  to  do  than  to 
scatter  the  seed.  No  wonder  that  a  river  whose 
waters  are  so  grateful,  salubrious  and  beneficial, 
should  in  days  of  ignorance  have  been  regarded  as 
an  object  of  worship,  and  that  it  is  still  revered  and 
beloved. 

We  will  not  stop  to  speculate  longer  upon  the 
present  condition  and  prospects  of  Egypt,  its  history 
and  polity.  Like  all  those  nations  in  which  the 
Mohammedan  bears  rule,  tlioro  is  apparent  a  general 


1  78  THE    NILE. 

i  lattention  to  the  solid  domestic  refinements  and 
comforts.  We  look  forward  with  pleasure  to  that 
period,  when  these  otherwise  amiable  people  will  be 
devliered  from  their  gross  superstitions,  and  when 
the  gospel  shall  become  to  the  inhabitants  what  this 
river  is  to  the  soil;  when  the  parched  spiritual 
ground  "  shall  become  a  pool ;  and  the  thirsty  land, 
springs  of  water:  in  the  habitation  of  dragons,  where 
each  lay,  shall  be  grass,  with  reeds  and  rushes." 


THE  RED  SEA. 

There  is  one  sea,  which,  though  not  numbered 
among  the  sacred  vratcrs  of  Canaan,  is  intimately 
connected  with  the  early  history  of  the  Jews.  We 
refer  to  that  large  desert-encircled  body  of  water 
known  as  the  Red  Sea.  Were  it  not  that  it  is  so 
important,  the  increasing  dimensions  of  the  volume 
would  suggest  its  omission.  We  do  not  fear,  however, 
that  we  shall  weary  the  reader  with  a  subject  so  full 
of  interest.  This  great  inland  sea,  lies  between  the 
Territories  of  Egypt  and  Arabia,  and  was  anciently 
a  part  of  that  great  chain  of  commercial  intercourse, 
which  poured  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  into  King 
Solomon's  realm. 

It  forms  the  north-eastern  boundary  of  Africa, 
and  may  yet  be  distinguished  as  the  dfrect  line  for 
the  European  transit  of  oriental  trade.  We  need 
:iot  now  refer  to  this  great  question,  with  the  view  of 
stating  the  various  conflicting  opinions  which  greatly 
agitate  the  rival  European  and  American  nations,  or 
which  may  serve  to  mystify  this  somewhat  proble- 
matic subject.  We  yet  think  that  the  day  is  not  dis- 
tant, when  the  increasing  commercial  importance  of 
15* 


180  RED    SEA. 

the  States  bordering  on  the  Mediterranean,  may 
suggest  some  more  speedy  and  commodious  means  of 
transportation  and  travel.  This  prospective  ques- 
tion, scarce  heightens  the  importance  attached  to  the 
historical  reminiscences  of  this  great  body  of  water. 
The  first  thought  ever  present  to  the  traveller,  and 
to  the  student  of  Sacred  Geography,  is  the  great 
miracle  of  the  deliverance  and  passage  of  the  Israel- 
ites. Taken  altogether,  it  is  the  most  stupendous 
event  of  Bible  history ;  having  about  it,  that  air  of 
the  terrible  and  sublime,  with  which  we  are  ever 
wont  to  view  the  stirring  occurrences  in  the  great 
panorama  of  nature.  The  ocean,  vast,  boundless, 
whether  in  storm  or  calm,  is  the  great  mirror  of 
God,  the  emblem  of  power  and  majesty,  and  the 
great  wind  harp,  which  chords  its  tones  in  tempests 
and  leaves  its  requium  on  a  thousand  shores. 

Always  terrible,  with  what  emotion  think  you, 
would  we  view  each  wave,  impelling  wave,  did  we 
view  the  direct  agency  of  the  Divine  hand,  lifting 
up  wave  on  wave,  and  beating  up  its  wide  white  foam 
on  the  coral  reefs  of  a  hundred  seas.  Language  ut- 
terly fails  to  describe  that  sense  of  grandeur,  which 
must  fill  the  breast  of  the  pious  storm-tossed  mari- 
ner. And  yet,  all  these  conceptions  fall  very  far 
short  of  giving  an  adequate  view  of  that  great  deliv- 


RED    SEA.  181 

erance  and  overthrow.  Egypt  was  the  birth-place 
of  the  Jewish  nation ;  the  rough-rocked  cradle  of 
their  glorious  nationality.  Like  the  crucible  of  most 
nations,  ancient  and  modern,  it  served  only  to  refine 
the  increasing  materials  of  opulence  and  empire. 
We  need  not  go  back  to  their  embryo  history,  in  the 
family  of  Jacob,  nor  to  the  confines  of  Canaan,  to 
trace  the  great  events  which  were  afterwards  worked 
out  by  the  infatuated  policy  of  the  Pharaohs.  They 
needed  just  that  preparation,  and  much  more,  before 
they  were  fitted  to  assume  their  influential  Lycurgan 
position  among  the  nations.  Humanly  speaking, 
with  this  view,  their  "three  days  journey  into  the 
wilderness,"  and  their  whole  previous  history,  was 
not  to  be  compared  to  that  Divine  lesson,  learned  in 
full  view  of  the  overthrow  of  the  oppressor. 

There  is  about  this  whole  history,  something  which 
takes  strong  hold  of  the  imagination ;  seizing  upon 
the  innate  emotions  of  grandeur,  and  making  the 
whole  scene  pass  swiftly  before  us.  We  have  some- 
times seen  the  dark  clouds  gather  in  the  distance, 
and  the  whole  heavens  I'olling  out,  like  wave  upon 
wave,  whilst  ever  and  anon,  the  wayward  paths 
of  lightning,  were  vividly  traced  on  the  back  ground 
of  the  distant  sky.  The  dividing  of  the  waters  of 
the  Red  Sea,  and  the  quick  rush  of  waves,  may  have 


182  RED    SEA. 

been  somewhat  like  this  phenomenon,  as  the  dark- 
crested  billows  parted  hither  and  thither  by  the 
power  of  God.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  stately 
simplicity  with  which  this  grand  event  is  recorded. 
The  Israelites  had  journeyed  prosperously,  until 
within  sight  of  the  Sea,  when  they  caught  the  first 
sad  view  of  the  pursuing  army.  Defiling  in,  and 
encamping  between  two  ranges  of  mountains,  there 
was  no  possible  means  of  escape,  but  back  through 
the  narrow  valley,  through  which  they  had  passed. 
In  front  was  the  Red  Sea,  and  in  the  rear  the  grad- 
ually increasing  host  of  Pharaoh,  filling  up  every 
valley,  and  clustering  thickly  over  every  hill.  We 
can  scarce  Avonder,  that  they  "cried  unto  the  Lord," 
and  that  they  chided  Moses  for  bringing  them  for- 
Avard  to  the  prospect  of  such  immense  slaughter. 
On  the  whole,  however,  their  conduct  was  quite  irra- 
tional and  unbecoming,  unworthy  of  them,  and  ex- 
tremely ungrateful  to  God.  They  had  not  yet  any 
true  conception  of  the  dignity  of  freedom,  or  of  that 
just  contempt,  with  which  mankind  generally  view 
every  relapse  into  unresisting  subjection.  Like 
many  others,  they  had  not  yet  fully  tasted  its  bles- 
sings, or  realized  that  happiness  which  flows  from 
the  unrestrained  enjoyment  of  social  and  religious 
liberty.     We  need  not  enter  into  a  detail  of  the 


RED     SEA.  183 

controversy,  aa  to  the  precise  spot  where  Moses 
crossed  ;  though  we  confess  the  subject  is  not  devoid 
of  interest.  Mr.  Stevens,  the  illustrious  American 
traveller,  thinks  he  did  not  cross  near  Suez,  as  from 
that  point,  to  a  considerable  distance  down  the  gulf, 
there  was  a  high  range  of  mountains,  which  it  would 
be  necessary  to  cross,  an  undertaking  which  it  would 
have  been  physically  impossible,  for  six  hundred 
thousand  people,  men,  women  and  children  to  accom- 
plish, with  a  hostile  army  pursuing  them.  He 
says  :  "At  Suez,  Moses  could  not  have  been  hem- 
med in  as  he  was ;  he  could  go  off  into  the  Syrian 
desert,  or  unless  the  Sea  has  greatly  changed  since 
that  time,  round  the  head  of  the  gulf;  but  here,  di- 
rectly opposite  where  I  sat,  was  an  opening  in  the 
mountains,  making  a  clear  passage  from  the  desert 
to  the  shore  of  the  sea."  Here,  most  probably,  he 
came  down  with  his  multitude  to  the  shore,  and  here 
finding  himself  hemmed  in,  in  the  manner  described 
in  the  Bible,  with  the  Sea  before  him,  and  the  army 
of  Pharaoh  in  his  rear  ;  it  was  he  who  had  stretched 
out  his  hand  and  divided  the  waters  ;  and  probably 
on  this  very  described  spot,  the  children  of  Israel 
had  kneeled  down  to  offer  thanks  to  God  for  his 
miraculous  interposition.  At  this  point,  the  Sea  is 
about    twenty  miles  across,   on  the   great   caravan 


184  RED    SEA. 

route,  from  the  Raraeseh  of  the  Pharaohs,  the  dis- 
tance which  that  immense  multitude,  with  their 
baggage  could  have  passed  in  the  space  of  time  men- 
tioned in  the  Bible.  Here  the  Israelites  crossed 
over,  and  in  which  the  "Egyptians  assaying  to  do 
were  drowned."  Here  the  waters'  parted  "hither 
and  thither,"  and  here  when  Pharaoh  passed  in, 

From  steep  to  steep,  lond  thund'ring  billows  come, 

A  vratery  waste  in  dire  commotion  all; 

And  swords,  and  spears,  and  chariots,  and  plumes, 

And  anon,  whole  brigaxles  ot  marching  troops, 

Unconscious,  trusting  in  their  pruud  array, 

Are  deep  beneath  the  smothering  i-uin  whelm'd. 

Whilst  on  this  part  of  our  description,  which  per- 
tains to  the  passage  of  the  Red  Sea,  by  the  Israel- 
ites, we  may  insert  a  small  part  of  an  interesting 
letter  from  Bruce,  on  this  subject.  The  letter  is  in 
part  a  reply  to  the  curious  enquiries  of  the  learned 
Michoelis. 

"I  must  confess,"  says  the  former  "however  learned 
the  gentleman  who  proposes  these  doubts,  I  did 
not  think  they  merited  any  attention  to  solve  them. 
This  passage  is  told  us  by  Scripture,  to  be  a  mirac- 
ulous one;  and  if  so,  we  have  nothing  to  do  with 
tiatural  causes.  If  we  do  not  believe  Moses,  we  need 
not  believe  the  transaction  at  all,  seeing  that  it  is 
from  his  authority  alone  we  derive  it.     Tf  we  believe 


in  God,  that  he  /nude  the  Sea,  we  must  believe  he 
could  divide  it  when  he  sees  proper  reason ;  and  of 
that,  he  must  be  the  only  proper  judge.  It  is  no 
greater  miracle  to  divide  the  lied  Sea,  than  to  divide 
the  river  Jordan."  It  was  here  also,  that  Miriam 
and  her  companions,  in  conformity  to  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  Egyptians,  celebrated  the  tri-' 
umph  with  music  and  dancing.  When  we  come  to 
such  sublime  investigations,  in  the  trufliful  simpli- 
city of  implicit  trust,  we  will  soon  discover  thvt 
God's  goodness,  .ts  well  as  his  omniscience,  in  leavin.^ 
much  of  these  divine  wonders  to  be  matter  of  faith 
and  not  of  knowledge,  showing  us  all  the  while,  that 
each  act  of  faith  raises  us  higher  above  the  sea  of 
doubt,  and  the  tempest  of  confusion.  We  may 
close  this  description,  with  one  more  statement  from 
the  distinguished  traveller  already  quoted. 

"I  directed  Paul  to  pitch  my  tent,  with  the  door 
toward  the  place  of  the  miraculous  passage.  I  shall 
never  forget  that  sunset  scene.  I  was  sitting  on  the 
very  spot  where  the  chosen  people  of  God,  after 
walking  over  the  dry  bed  cf  the  Sea,  stopped  to 
beliolil  the  divided  waters  returning  to  their  -place, 
and  swallowing  up  the  host  of  the  pursuers.  The 
mountains  on  the  other  side  looked  dark  and  porten- 
tous,  as  if   proud    and    conscious  witnesses   of   the 


18t)  RED     SEA. 

mighty  miracle,  while  the  sun  descending  slowly 
behind  them,  long  after  it  had  disappeared,  left  a 
reflected  brightness,  which  illumined  with  an  almost 
supernatural  light,  the  dark  surface  of  the  water." 
Thus  may  be  with  us,  when  we  have  "pitched  our 
tent  on  the  last  sunset  shore  of  life,  may  it  dart 
back  its  last  radiant  faithful  scintillations  on  the 
divided  sea  of  life;  lapsing  back  forever  on  the  ene- 
mies of  Israel  and  of  God. 


RIVER  OF  LIFE. 


In  the  preceding  sketches,  I  have  confined  myself 
to  the  description  of  scenes  alone,  supposing  each  to 
be  full  of  instruction,  and  designed  to  be  the  means  of 
inculcating  a  great  moral  lesson.  The  location  and 
historical  association  of  these  streams  and  fountains, 
necessarily  lead  to  a  definiteness  of  description.  Wo 
propose,  in  the  following  sketch,  to  depart  from  the 
preceding  course,  so  far  as  to  describe  that  river, 
■which,  issuing  forth  from  'neath  the  Throne  Eternal, 
rolls  out  on  the  vast  plains  of  Paradise,  flashing  and 
gleaming  in  the  sunlight  of  heaven. 

Taking  our  position  hard  by  its  source,  our  eye 

instinctively   follows  "wave  impelling  wave,"  until 

stream  and   vision  are  lost  amid  the  golden  clouds 

which  obscure  the  far  oif  o-atline  of  the  arching  sky. 

Tracing  the  stream  back  again,  the  flash  of  its  wave 

seems  as  though  the  sunbeam,  reflected  from   the 

crystal  bed  of  the  river,  shone  in    the  drops  on  the 

surface  of  the  stream,  and  caused  them  to  gleam  like 

a  diamond  in  the  sun. 

No  marvel,  then,  that  David  standing  upon  the 

heights  of  Zion,  surrounded  by  oncinies,  oppressed 
10 


185  RIVER   OF    LIFE. 

with  trouble  and  sorrow,  exckimed  in  a  transport  of 
devotion — "  There  is  a  river,  the  streams  whereof 
make  glad  the  city  of  God."  Some  desponded  of 
help,  but  to  him  it  was  reserved  to  strike  with  hope 
and  faith  that  Ijre,  which,  thrilling  his  own  bosom, 
sent  throughout  his  valley  encircled  city,  the  trium- 
phant strain  of  confiding  love.  Strengthened  by  the 
expression  of  such  hopeful  trust,  animated  by  the 
unfailing  promises  of  Heaven,  the  Pfealmist,.  looking 
at  the  history  of  his  people,  and  then  at  the  provi- 
dence of  God,  cast  back  his  vision,  which,  catching 
in  the  amplitude  of  its  range,  arid  wastes,  desolate, 
barren  vales,  and  the  rocky  elevations  of  difficulty 
and  danger;  where  also  his  eye  rested  with  delight 
upon  the  stream,  now  partially  obscured,  there  wind- 
ing, and  now  again  pouring  down  upon  the  church 
its  healthful  current  of  salvation  and  joy.  The  voice 
of  the  Psalmist,  in  the  Old,  and  the  response  of  the 
"Revelator,"  in  the  New  Testament,  testifying  the 
one  to  the  other,  and  echoing  aloft  amid  the  heav- 
ens, proclaims  aloud  the  existence  and  continuance 
of  this  ever  blessed  stream.  David,  standing  on  the 
heights  of  Zion,  in  the  Old,  and  John,  standing  on 
the  more  elevated  and  spiritual  Zion  of  the  New 
Jerusalem,  looking  forward  and  back  along  the  inter- 
vening crystal  stream,  were  enabled  to  proclaim  their 


RIVLR    OV    LLFB.  l^S 

exuberance  of  joy,  in  contemplating  its  existence  and 
continued  flow.  The  Christian,  standing  on  its  ver- 
dant banks,  and  viewing  the  windings  through  years 
of  deep  despondcncj'-,  feels,  as  its  slightly  undulat- 
ing flow  washes  around  his  feet,  that  its  current  ever 
incessant,  is  ever  unvaried  in  the  volume  of  its  deli- 
cious and  limpid  joy.  What  the  gentle,  dream-liko 
murmur  of  Siloa  was  to  Jerusalem,  and  Jordan's  roar 
to  the  Holy  Land,  this  river  has  ever  been  to  the 
"tribes  of  the  Lord,"  in  every  age  and  clime.  In 
source  with  God,  it  has  ever  been  the  supply  of  his 
church.  Whatever  blessing,  of  whatever  kind  or 
character;  whether  of  truth  to  convict,  convert  and 
confirm,  or  oi  wisdom  to  aid  in  the  selection  of  that 
which  is  good  and  sanctifying,  all,  all  are  derivable 
from  this  inexhaustible  source  cf  heavenly  blessing. 
Reflecting  and  mirroring  the  plumage  and  counte- 
nances of  "innumerable  angels,"  where  issuing 
from  the  Throne,  it  winds  through  Paradise,  like  a 
broad  sheet  of  silver ;  thence  flowing  on  down  to  its 
junction  with  the  stream  of  time,  reveals  on  its 
smooth  surface  the  countenances  of  the  "  ancient 
worthies,"  gleaming  like  stars  from  the  cerulean  vault 
of  the  midnight  heavens. 

Unskilful  as  are  some,  who,  fearful  of  trusting  to 
its  waves,  tether  themselves  by  alternate  catchings 


100  RIVER   OF   LIFE. 

of  the  heart,  to  the  shrubs  of  v<aried  worldly  beauty, 
those  who  resign  their  fragile  bark  to  its  placid  cur- 
rent, feel  that  they  are  gently  wafted  by  the  odorous 
air  of  Paradise,  which  filling  the  light  and  -airy  sail, 
and  moving  it  to  and^fro,  makes  it  gleam  above  them, 
like  moonbeams  on  the  water.  And  then,  perchance, 
should  the  season  of  trouble,  of  frequent  storms 
arise,  when  the  dip  of  the  faith-oar  sounds  but  faintly 
responsive  to  the  stirring  songs  of  promise  and  deli- 
verance, when  from  one  small  cloud  upon  the  blue 
sky  the  heavens  became  suddenly  obscured,  whilst 
the  wind  seizing  vpon  the  frail  bark,  tosses  us  like 
some  fairy  plaything  upon  the  now  foaming  waters; 
and  when,  from  the  dread  of  the  thunder's  roll,  and 
the  lightning,  as  in  sport,  flashing  and  dancing  across 
the  angry  heavens,  we,  dreading  our  skill,  fall  pros- 
trate on  the  deck,  invoking  the  aid  of  the  God  of 
the  storm  and  winds,  a  boat,  at  that  perilous  moment, 
guided  by  one  single  Hand,  will  then  be  seen,  scull- 
ing the  waters  toward  our  storm-riven  vessel ;  when, 
springing  "  on  board,"  we  shall  all  realize,  as  we 
tremblingly  cling  to  Him,  with  the  cry — "  Lord,  save 
or  we  perish,"  that  not  a  wave  of  onward-beating 
trouble  shall  ever  engulf  us. 

When  the  Church,  corrupted  by  tradition,  had  her 
light  and  power  obscured,  under  the  accumulative 


lUVER    OF    UFE.  191 

rubbish   of  Rabbinical    teachings,    from   this    clear 
stream  a  supply  of  wisdom  and  salvation  was  oppor- 
tunely derived,  in  the  person  of  Him  *'in  whom  all 
tulness  dwelt."     'Twas  fresh  and  continual  supplies 
from  this  stream,  which,  while  enabling  Apostles  to 
combat  successfully  the  opposition  of  men,  and  the 
incipient  corruptions  of  the  Church,  threw  out  upon 
the  surface,  while  winding  amid  the  rubbish  of  cen- 
turies, such  men  as  Huss,  and  Luther,  and  Calvin, 
and  Zwingle ;  reformers  of  the  Church,  who,  thrown 
up  as  pearls  from  the  bed  of  the  stream,  are  to  the 
Christian  dispensation  what  such  men  as  Elijah,  Eli- 
sha,  Hezekiah  and  Ezekiel  were  to  the  Old. 

From  it  the  truth,  and  the  men  to  wield  it,  have 
been  derived.  From  it  not  only  comes  the  promise 
and  the  hope  of  pardon,  but  the  wisdom  and  ability 
to  apply  them  to  the  work  of  personal  salvation. 
The  taste  of  its  waters  producing  conviction  in  the 
sinner,  places  hope  in  the  heart  of  the  penitent,  and 
inspires  the  believer  with  gratitude  and  joy.  The 
alternate  source  of  healthful  sorrow  and  joy,  every 
successive  draught  of  its  more  than  "Pierian  "  waters 
imparts  but  the  increased  desire  to  partake  of  that 
everlasting  Fountain,  whence  this  broad  stream  doth 
ever  flow. 

Gladness,  with  all  its  peculiar  characteristics,  is 
16* 


102  lUVER    OF    LIFri. 

ulone  desirable  from  this  river  ;  which,  while  erer 
flowing,  reflects  on  every  ripple  of  its  waves,  the 
gunlight  of  celestial  joys.  Not  those  joys  which> 
embedded  in  the  unhealthy  stream  of  human  passion, 
produce  but  an  effervescent  and  ephemeral  pleasure : 
but,  though  exhilerating,  are  joys  in  which  the  un- 
derstanding and  conscience  can  participate.  Then 
the  assurance,  while  partaking  of  its  current,  that  it 
will  be  in  us  "a  well  of  water  springing  up  isto  ever- 
lasting life,"  imparts  a  relish  for  its  crystal  drops. 

Like  the  murmur  of  Siloa,  whilst  inspiring  a  love 
for  our  sanctuary-— our  "city  of  God" — its  onward 
flow  falls  with  such  loving,  melting  cadence,  as  leads 
us  to  exclaim — 

"O  thai  the  .a/orld  might  taste  and  see 
The  riches  of  his  grace ! '" 

Teaching,  preparing  and  comforticg  us,  as  onward 
we  ascend  to  its  inexhaustible  Source,  we  may  ex- 
claim in  joyful  transport — 

"Flow  on,  bright  river!  from  thy  source 

Among  the  Highland  founts  afar  ; 
Aad  wliile  rejoicing  in  thy  course, 

May  morning  sun,  and  evening  star 
Look  down,  and  ever  at  thy  side, 
gee  life,  and  strength,  and  peace  abide  !  " 


THE  GREAT  SEA. 


The  Jewish  people,  from  necessity  and  inclination, 
were  never  destined  to  great  maratime  importance. 
Their  comparatively  small  extent  of  navigable  sea- 
coast,  and  their  small  lakes  and  riverSj  were  not 
adapted  to  commerce.  They  were,  from  their  earli- 
est history,  a  pastoral  and  agricultural  people ;  and 
the  country  was  happily  adapted  to  their  originally 
retired  instincts  and  pursuits.  The  wealth  of  the 
Patriarchs  was  in  flocks  and  herds ;  and  their  emerged 
trans-Egyptian  history  did  not  essentially  change 
their  original  characteristics.  The  transhipment  of 
the  materials  with  which  they  assisted  in  the  erec- 
tion of  the  pyramids  and  obelisks,  being  confined  to 
the  sluices  of  the  Nile,  did  not  materially  increase 
their  nautical  taste  and  skill.  The  specimens  of 
Jewish  ship -building  were  not  at  all  equal  to  those 
of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  and  no  naval  encounter 
ever  occurred  in  their  martial  annals. 

Other  ancient  nations  soon  became  distinguished 

in  the  simpler  arts  of  navigation;  but   it   was  not 

until  tlie  time  of  Solomon,  that   wc   have   any  ac- 

,c©:a.at  of  any  Jew  becoming  a  voyager.     Then  w-e 


194  THE  GREAT  SEA. 

read,  that  "ships"  brought  gold  from  Ophir,  and 
that  many  other  materials  used  in  the  construction 
of  the  Temple,  were  the  benevolent  gifts  of  Tyrian 
commerce. 

This  city  was  for  many  years  the  great  seat  and 
source  of  Asiatic  trade,  and  in  this  feature  of  orien- 
tal grandeur  more  than  surpassed  its  great  rivalis, 
Nineveh  and  Babylon.  This  great  city,  more  than 
any  other  circumstance,  identifies  this  continental 
sea  with  the  history  of  the  Jews.  It  was  for  a  long 
time  their  only  medium  of  communication  with  the 
bordering  European  nations,  and  is  mentioned  in 
their  history,  as  far  back  as  the  "  times  "  of  Joshua. 
Josephus,  however,  fixes  the  date  of  the  founding  of 
this  city  not  above  two  hundred  and  forty  years 
before  the  building  of  the  Temple  of  Solomon,  which 
would  be  A.  M.  2760,  two  hundred  years  after  Jos- 
hua. 

We  understand  (Josh,  xix :  29,)  that  this  city  was 
allotted  to  the  tribe  of  Asher,  with  the  other  mara- 
nme  cities  of  the  same  coast.  Homer  never  speaks 
of  Tyre,  but  only  of  Sidon ;  and  Isaiah  calls  Tyre 
the  "daughter,"  or  colony  of  Sidon.  It  appears 
'that  this  city  was  two-fold — insular  and  continental. 
Insular  Tyre  was  most  ancient,  for  this  it  was  that 
w,aB   noticed  by  Joshua.     The  continental  city,  how- 


THE  GREAT  SEA.  195 

ever,  being  more  comin odiously  situated,  first  grew 
into  oonsidoration,  and  assumed  the  name  of  Palee- 
tyrus,  or  Old  Tyre.  Insular  Tyre  was  confined  to  a 
small  rocky  island,  eight  hundred  paces  long  and 
four  hundred  broad,  and  could  never  exceed  two 
miles  in  circumference.  We  learn  from  Pliny  and 
Strabo,  that  Tyre  on  the  opposite  coast,  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  sea,  was  a  city  of  vast  extent;  for,  many 
centuries  after  its  demolition  by  Nebuchadnezzar,  the 
scattered  ruins  measured  nineteen  miles  around. 

Old  Tyre  withstood  the  mighty  Assyrian  power^ 
having  been  besieged  in  vain,  by  Shalmaneser,  for 
five  years ;  although  he  cut  off"  tlveir  supplies  of  water 
from  the  cisterns,  which  they  remedied  by  digging 
wells  within  the  city.  It  afterwards  held  out  thir- 
teen years  against  Nebuchadnezzar,  king  of  Babylon, 
and  was  at  length  taken ;  but  not  until  the  Tyrians 
had  removed  their  efiects  to  the  insular  town,  and 
left  nothing  but  the  bare  walls  for  the  victor  to  de- 
molish. Alexander  afterAvard  made  use  of  these  mate- 
rials to  build  a  prodigious  causeway  or  isthmus,  above 
half  a  mile  long,  to  the  insular  city,  wiiioh  revived, 
as  the  phoenix,  from  the  ashes  of  the  old  city,  a^nd 
grew  to  great  power  and  opulence  as  a  maratiroo 
Btate ;  and  which  he  stormed  after  a  most  obstinate 
siege  of  five  months.     Only   eighteen  years   after 


196  THE  GREAT  SEA. 

this  terrible  calamity,  the  city  had  so  far  recovered 
her  ancient  commerce  and  opulence,  as  enabled  her 
to  stand  a  siege  of  fourteen  months,  against  Anti- 
gonus,  before  he  could  reduce  the  city.  But  after 
this  Tyre  fell  alternately  under  the  dominion  of  the 
kings  of  Syria  and  Egypt,  and  then  of  the  Romans, 
until  it  was  taken  by  the  Saracens,  about  A.  D.  639, 
re-taken  by  the  Crusaders,  A.  D.  1124,  and  at 
length  sacked  and  razed  by  the  Mamelukes  of  Egypt, 
with  Sidon  and  other  strong  ^towns,  that  they  might 
no  longer  harbor  the  Christians,  A.  D.  1289.  The 
final  desolation  of  Tyre  was  thus  foretold:  "I  will 
scrape  her  dust  from  her,  and  make  her  like  the  top 
of  a  rock ;  it  shall  be  a  place  for  the  spreading  of 
nets  in  the  midst  of  the  sea;  for  I  have  spoken  it, 
saith  the  Lord  God."  "I  will  make  her  like  the  top 
of  a  rock;  thou  shalt  be  a  place  to  spread  nets  upon; 
thou  shalt  be  built  no  more,  for  I  the  Lord  have 
spoken  it,  saith  the  Lord  Ood." 

Pococke  observes,  that  "there  are  no  signs  of  the 
ancient  city,  and  as  it  is  a  sandy  shore,  the  face  of 
everything  is  altered,  and  the  great  aqueduct  is  in 
many  places  almost  buried  in  the  sand."  Thus  has 
been  fulfilled  the  prophecy  of  Ezekiel — "  Thou  shalt 
be  built  no  more,  though  thou  be  sought  for,  yet 
thou   shalt  never  be  found  again."  (Ezek.  xxvi ;  21. 


THE  GREAT  SEA.  197 

The  fate  of  insular  Tyre  has-  been  no  less  remark- 
able. Maundrel,  ■who  visited  the  Holy  Land  A.  D. 
16i9T,  describes  it  thus:  "This  city,  standing  in  the 
sea,  upon  a  peninsula,  promises  f  t  a  distance  some- 
thing very  magnificent,  but  Avhen  you  come  to  it, 
you  find  no  similitude  of  that  glory  for  which  it  was 
BO  reno^yned  in  ancient  times,  and  Avhich  the  prophet 
Ezekiel  describes.  On  the  north  side  it  has  an  old 
Turkish  ungarrisoned  castle ;  beside  which  you  see 
nothing  here  but  a  mere  Babel  of  broken  walls,  pil- 
lars, vaults,  &c.  there  being  not  so  much  as  one 
entire  house  left !  Its  present  inhabitants  are  only 
a  few  poor  wretches,  harboring  themselves  in  the 
vaults,  and  subsisting  chiefly  by  fishing ;  who  seem 
to  be  preserved  in  this  place  by  divine  Providence, 
as  a  visible  argument  how  God  has  fulfilled  his  word 
concerning  Tyre,  namely,  that  it  should  be  as  the 
top  of  a  rock,  a  place  for  fishers  to  dry  their  nets 
upon."  (Ezek.  xxvi:  14.) 

The  Mediterranean  sea  was  the  great  cradle  of 
the  world's  commerce,  and  remained  for  ages  the 
only  test  of  the  navigator's  skill;  and  the  wide  area 
of  water,  on  which  was  so  often  and  so  fearfully 
arbitrated  the  adverse  interests  of  belligerent  em- 
pires. Every  well  read  school-boy  is  versed  in  the 
stirring  and  brilliant  naval  contests  of  the  Pelopo- 


198  THE  GREAT  SE^. 

ncssian  and  Punic  wars,  and  with  the  lives  and  the 
great  achievements  of  Hannibal  and  Scipio;  and  how 
the  respective  fates  of  Rome  and  Thebes  were  some- 
times suspended  on  the  doubtful  issue  of  a  single 
battle.  The  contest  was  at  last  decided,  and  Rome 
became  mistress  of  the  world. 

The  little  republics  Sjud  stotes,  within  the  small 
compass  of  the  Grecian  Archipelago,  were  oft-times 
distiaguished  for  their  naval  proAvess,  sometimes  con- 
tending for  local  supremacy,  and  then  again  for  their 
undisputed  position  as  masters  of  the  surrounding 
nations.  The  Greeks  were  not  less  invincible  than 
their  Italian  neighbors,  and  sometimes  proved  them- 
selves^  more  than  a  match  for  every  oppo^ng  enemy. 

It  is  not  our  object,-  hov^ever,  to  write  in  detail 
concerning  these  ancient  wars,  nor  to  repeat  descrip- 
tiona  of  the  mure  modern  and  familiar,  and  probably 
not  less  brilliant  battles  of  Navarino  and  the  Nile. 
The  nominal  independence  of  Greece  has  been  con- 
jointly secured  by  the  great  European  powers,  and 
the  oscillating  splendors  of  Napoleon's  destiny  have 
been  forever  obscured  in  the  princely  mockery  of  his 
tragic  fate.  The  opening  events  of  the  present  cen- 
tury give  promise  that  England  will  not  sanction 
the  probable  irruptions  of  the  Sultan  and  the  Czar. 

The  Bible  reader  takes  much  greater  interest  in 


THE  GREAT  SEA.  199 

Other  events,  and  in  such  scenes  and  voyages  as 
marked  the  early  history  and  progress  of  the  Chris- 
tian Church.  This  sea  is  honored  as  bearing  Paul  and 
Barnabas,  the  first  missionary  voyagers,  who  came 
down  from  Perga  into  Attalia  ;  "and  then-  sailed  to 
Antioch."  This  great  work  entered  early  into  the 
plans  of  the  Apostles,  and  was  one  in  which  the 
Church  was  deeply  interested. 

Since  that  time  many  well  tried  servants  of  the 
Church  have  gone  forth,  from  Europe  and  from  our 
own  country,  traversing  the  same  waters  over  which 
the  Apostles  sailed;  and  many  more  will  yet  go 
forth,  to  visit  the  same  places,  and  to  preach  the 
same  Gospel.  St.  Paul  was  the  most  distinguished, 
certainly  the  most  devoted,  and  probably  the  most 
useful  laborer  of  the  early  Church. 

Who  that  has  read  his  history  can  ever  forget  the 
records  of  his  voyage  to  Rome,  or  the  "aifecting  part- 
ing" with  the  brethren,  when  he  went  up  to  Jerusa- 
lem, all  sorrowing,  mosL  of  all  that  they  should  "sec 
his  face  no  moi*e?"  See  him,  in  the  early  part  of 
his  ministry,  disarming  cavillers  and  conquermg  op- 
position. See  him  afterwards  at  Athens,  that  cen- 
tre of  wisdom  and  philosophic  glory.  See  him  on 
!Mars'  Hill,  the  central  forum  of  the  civililed  world, 

with  the  wisest  sages  of  the  age,  full  of  the  bitterest 
17 


200  THE  GREAT  SEA. 

prejudices,  for  his  hearers.  See  him  subdue  their 
haughtiness  by  his  superior  reasoning,  and  pour  a 
flood  of  light  upon  their  minds,  which  made  converts 
of  the  mightiest  foes.  And,  at  a  still  later  period, 
when  manacled  and  unsupported  by  the  presence  of 
friends,  he  appeared  in  the  courts  of  haughty  prin- 
ces— "a  scoff,  a  jest,  a  by-word  through  the  world;" 
when  before  Felix  he  defended  himself,  and  before 
Agrippa  delivered  the  most  eloquent  of  his  speeches, 
how  mighty  were  the  movings  of  reason  in  him,  and 
how  mighty  were  the  effects  his  reasoning  produced? 
It  is  not  now  possible  to  paint  the  great  picture, 
which  would  furnish  an  adequate  idea,  in  which  he 
thus  stood  forth  the  most  unrivalled  orator  of  ancient 
or  modern  times.  Combining  in  one  great  sermon 
the  power  and  pathos  for  which  all  the  most  eminent 
modern  preachers  are  separately  distinguished.  We 
may  not  simply  speak  of  this  effort  as  St.  Paul's 
own  defence;  but  rather  that  great  apology  and  plea 
on  which  the  after  successes  of  the  Apostles,  and  the 
fate  of  Christianity  depended.  Great  men's  acts 
have  the  one  merit,  of  being  the  great  moral  centres 
on  which  revolve  the  events  which  ever  make  an  in- 
delibly good  or  bad  impression. 

This  great  sermon  shows  that  the  Apostle  thought 
that  Christianity,  in  its  proper  use,  lay  at  the  foun- 


THE  GREAT  SEA.  201 

dation  of  all  righteous  law,  government,  science  and 
religion.  And  what  was  belief  in  Paul's  mind  eigh- 
teen hundred  years  ago,  is  it  not  history  now?  Go 
back  on  the  wing  of  thought,  to  the  auspicious  night 
when  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  first  shed  its  beams  on 
the  hills  of  Palestine,  and  thence  soar  from  the  Dead 
Sea  westward,  over  Asia,  Africa,  and  Europe,  to  the 
New  World,  and  mark  the  rise,  progress,  and  de- 
struction of  myriads  of  nations,  down  to  the  present 
hour;  and  tell  mc  if  the  useful  arts  have  not  flour- 
ished, science  advanced,  and  religion  prospered — if 
good  laws  have  not  been  perpetuated,  and  nations 
been  happy,  in  proportion  to  their  observance  of  the 
Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ. 

The  most  illustrious  galaxies  of  names  and  nations 
have  clustered  thickly  through  all  time,  on  the  shores  of 
this  large  and  inter-continental  sea;  and  their  future 
history  may  evolve  such  scenes  to  be  enacted  as  have 
had  no  parallel  in  modern  times.  Every  moral  and 
physical  evil  has  its  antidote;  and  the  storm,  wide- 
spread and  devastating,  uprooted  gigantic  trees, 
which,  floating  on  the  surface  of  the  once  more  tran- 
quil ocean,  suggested  the  means  of  transportation. 

Navigation,  in  the  mj^thology  of  the  ancients  as- 
cribed to  Venus  and  Minerva,  owes  its  first  invention 
to  Ousous,  the  Phoenician,  who,  on  the  trunk  of  a 


.  ] 


202  THE  GRKAT  SEA. 


tree  denuded  ^f  it  brandies,  and  half  excavated  T^y 
fire,  boldly  pushed  from  shore,  and  encountered  the 
untried  perils  of  the  deep.  Would  we  view  the  most 
beautiful  object  in  nature,  we  will  look  to  the  ocean 
heaving  and  swelling  in  its  mysterious  undulation, 
its  calm  and  placid  surface  checkered  with  light  and 
S'hade,  reflecting  the  sky  above,  and  the  changing 
aspect  of  the  flying  clouds !  We  could  not  pass  by 
this  "great  sea,"  in  writing  sketches  of  the  Streams 
and  Fountains  of  tlic  Holy  Land. 


THE  IMMORTAL  FOUNTAIN. 


The  idea  of  vicarious  offerings  for  sin  seem  om- 
nipresent and  co-eval  "vvith  the  history  of  almost  all 
the  existing  tribes  and  nations  of  the  earth.  A  few, 
indeed,  may  have  no  very  clearly  defined  perceptions 
of  its  origin  or  import;  but  all  attach  to  it  the  grand 
truth,  of  the  substitution  of  the  innocent  for  the 
guilty.  It  is  this  great  truth  which  infidels  would 
gladly  gainsay;  but  which,  showing  the  unity  of  our 
race,  also  beautifully  illustrates  many  of  th«  impor- 
tant facts  and  doctrines  of  the  Bible.  The  physical 
evidences  of  the  deluge  are  admitted  to  exist  in  the 
irruptions  and  fossil  deposits  observable  in  the  moun- 
tain elevations  of  South  America  and  Asia ;  but  not 
less  satisfactory  is  this  other  tradition  of  the  general 
facts  of  the  fall,  and  of  the  promises  of  final  restora- 
tion. We  maintain  that  these  great  traditions  must 
have  had  some  such  origin  as  the  Bible  affords,  togeth- 
er with  the  manner  in  which  its  great  truths  became 
disseminated,  by  the  captivities  and  dispersions  of 
his  people.  The  existence  of  any  g.eat  tradition 
is  evidence  that  some  truth  existed,  and  is  the 
shadow  from  which  we  can  sometimes  determine  the 
character,  the  size  and  form  of  the  intercepting  ob- 


204  IMMORTAL  FOUNTAIN. 

ject.  The  "la^Y,"  sajs  St.  Paul  "  \Yas  the  shadow 
of  good  things  to  come,"  such  things  as  have  been 
gladly  revealed  in  the  fuller  light  of  the  Gospel  day. 
To  change  the  metaphor,  it  was  the  great  mirror 
through  whose  transfused  and  obscured  reflections 
the  pious  Jew  might  yet  discover  that  good  promised 
time  of  Gospel  blessing.  The  great  moral  light  of 
the  Jewish  dispensation  resembles  somewhat  the 
indistinct  images  fnat  tremble  and  glitter  in  a  semi- 
summer  day,  amid  the  deep  tangled  wild-wood  of  the 
forest ;  or  the  flitting  shadow  of  the  summer  cloud, 
as  it  rests  serenely  o'er  the  deep  mountain  gorge. 

We  must  not  think  that  the  Jews  were  to  be  pitied 
■for  their  lack  of  divine  light.  They  had  much  more 
spiritual  knowledge  than  all  the  cotemporary  nations, 
and  they  were  the  only  nation  with  whom  God  held 
actual  communion.  Other  nations  were  left  to  their 
unsatisfying  philosophic  speculations,  or  to  their  un- 
certain and  capricious  oracles.  When  we  compare 
the  Jew  with  the  Christian,  in  his  conceptions  and 
privileges,  we  know  that  the  "least  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  is  greater  than  he;"  but  when,  also,  we 
anticipate  the  future  glory  of  the  Church,  in  contrast 
with  our  own  era,  we  know  that  the  "light  of  the  moon 
shall  be  as  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  the  light  of  the 
sun  shall  be  as  the  light  of  seven  days."     To  know 


IMMORTAL  FOUXTAIX.  205 

the  exact  amount  of  liglit  each  era  of  the  Church  may 
have  had,  we  must  not  only  study  its  own  history, 
but  the  dispensation  and  events  which  immediately 
succeeded.  There  is  that  light  in  the  natural  and 
moral  world  which  makes  darkness  visible,  and  there 
is  also  that  light  which  can  pierce  the  thick  gloom, 
and  open  up  the  cheering  irradiations  of  the  coming 
day.  The  Jews  generally  saw  the  great  moral  ima- 
ges of  their  system,  much  more  through  what  was 
past,  than  what  was  yet  to  come;  looking,  from 
time  to  time,  much  more  to  Abraham  than  to  Moses, 
and  finally  much  more  to  Moses  than  to  Christ. 
The  Apostle  said  the"Jews  required  a  sign,  and  the 
Greeks  sought  after  wisdom ;"  but  they  were  such 
signs  as  had  had  theirfulfilment.  All  nations  are 
in  great  danger  of  modeling  their  destiny  by  a 
servile  and  unmeaning  attachment  to  obsolete  insti- 
tutions and  customs,  not  studying  the  present,  or 
faithfully  looking  forward  to  the  probably  pressing 
exigencies  of  the  future. 

It  is  the  peculiar  property  of  unbelief  to  pro- 
fess an  undue  attachment  to  the  past,  ever  mag- 
nifying or  perverting  the  great  truths  which  faith 
only  can  reveal.  The  Jews  rejected  Christ,  on  their 
f)wn  interpretation  of  the  very  promises  he  claimed 

support  of  his  mission.     "  He  came  unto  his  oivn, 


2U(3  IMMORTAL  FOUNTAIN. 

and  his  own  received  him  not;"  and  none  ever  did 
receive  him,  under  either  dispensation  of  law  or  Gos- 
pel, but  those  whom  faith  empowered  to  become  the 
"sons  of  God."  There  are  some  simple  facts  in 
Jewish  history,  which  illustrate  the  manner  in  which 
their  great  religious  blessings  were  received.  When 
the  "ark"  rested  in  the  house  of  Obed  Edom,  it  was 
made  the  inconscious  agent  of  innumerable  mercies; 
and  so  was  it  when  Rahab  hid  the  spies,  and  the 
widow  fed  the  prophet,  or  when  the  two  disciples 
were  accompanied  by  Jesus,  and  whose  "  hearts 
burned  within  them  as  he  talked  with  them  by  the 
way." 

It  is  no  doubt  true,  that  two  persons  with  almost 
equal  tastes  and  intellectual  perceptions,  in  passing 
over  a  beautiful  landscape,  or  in  looking  at  some 
grand  and  picturesque  mountain,  would  see  objects 
quite  differently,  or,  indeed,  one  might  see  what  the 
other  would  entirely  overlook.  It  is  perhaps  so  in 
our  spiritual  perceptions;  the  one  regaling  himself 
by  some  hidden  fountain  of  grace,  or  reclining  in  some 
delightful  arbor,  or  basking  in  the  invigorating  sun- 
shine, whilst  another  gropes  his  way  amid  darkness 
and  tears.  The  great  duty  of  Christian  watchful- 
ness applies  equally  to  churches  and  individuals,  and 
no  doubt  all  pious  people  miss  many  precious  seasons 


IMMORTAL  FOUNTAIN.  207 

of  gra<;e,  by  slumbering  in  the  desert  or  in  the  gar- 
den, and  by  not  heeding  the  enquiry,  "What  doest 
thou  here,  Elijah."  While  the  "Bridegroom  tarried 
they  all  slumbered  and  slept;"  and  the  natural  in- 
ference -vvas,  that  whilst  the  soldiers  slept,  the  disci- 
ples stole  away  the  body  of  Jesus.  It  is  a  significant 
fact,  that  it  was  when  Hagar  had  exhausted  all  the 
natural  means  of  sustenance,  and  hs.d  abandoned  her 
son,  to  retire  deep  amid  the  forest  in  penitence  and 
prayer,  that  the  mysterious  angel  appeared,  and 
pointed  out  the  bubbling  fountain  of  the  well  Lahai- 
roi.  God  is  near  to  him  who  is  of  a  "broken  and 
contrite  spirit;"  and  it  was  to  St.  John,  the  meekest 
of  all  the  Apostles,  and  not  to  Peter,  that  the  Savior 
made  known  those  great  and  grand  truths  which 
"must  shortly  be  revealed."  The  Jews  as  a  people 
were  the  unconscious  recipients  of  unnumbered  bles- 
sings, and  many  which  did  not  come  down  through 
the  ordinary  means  of  offerings  and  ordinances.  St. 
Paul,  when  speaking  in  contrast  with  the  gentiles,  of 
their  great  privileges,  enumerates  as  chiefly  among 
these,  that  to  them  was  "committed  the  oracles  of 
God."  This  was  that  "unconscious  blessing,"  which, 
like  the  sun  on  their  vine-clad  hills,  shed  down  upon 
all  classes  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom  its  mild  and 
mellow  lustre.   It  was  to  the  whole  nation  of  Canaan 


208  IMMORTAL  FOUNTAIN. 

what  tlie  divine  presence  was  in  the  iivilderness — "  the 
pillar  of  cloud  by  day,  and  of  fire  by  night."  The  whole 
order  of  Scribes  and  Priests  was  founded  with  the 
view  to  disseminate  this  knowledge,  and  to  preach 
its  great  truths  in  the  temple  and  their  synagogues. 
Its  influence  was  perceptible  in  all  departments  of 
society,  it  was  the  text-book  of  the  learned,  and  the 
manual  of  the  poor;  the  fount  whence  prophets 
drew  their  imagery  and  hallowed  power,  and  whence 
patriot,  poet,  kings,  drew  their  mild  pathos,  which 
tuned  the  melody  of  their  plaintive  lyres.  We  can 
trace,  in  the  subsequent  writings  of  each  successive 
author,  the  influence  each  preceding  book  has  had, 
and  Christ  sometimes  announced  his  sublime  truths 
in  the  glowing  utterances  of  Ezekiel  and  Isaiah. 

Jesus  Christ  was  the  great  central  luminary  of 
each  revolving  dispensation.  He  is  the  great  origi- 
nal in  the  great  pictures  and  images  of  the  Bible, 
and  the  great  unknown,  to  whom  all  the  prophets 
gave  heed.  He  flames  with  undimmed  lustre  in  the 
burning  bush,  engirts  himself  with  lightnings  on 
Sinai,  and  stands  in  mysterious  grandeur  on  the  slo- 
ping environs  of  Jericho,  as  the  mysterious  angel, 
"with  a  sword  drawn  in  his  hand."  The  Jews  Avell 
knew  that  their  great  sacrifices  were  typical.  One 
sacrifice  had  not  vet  been  made.     God  had  furnished 


IMMORTAL    FOUNTAIN.  209 

an  unexpected  oflfering  to  Abraham,  and  the  anti- 
type had  not  yet  been  furnished.  They  could  all 
say,  in  their  mysterious  searches,  and  when  reading 
the  prophets,  *'of  whom  doth  this  man  speak?" 
There  was  an  unknown  explanation  of  all  their  great 
services.  The  High  Priest  was  not  "He"  of  whom 
Moses  spake.  Sometimes  they  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  on-coming  glory,  breathed  the  glad  promise  and 
died.  It  was  seen  by  Moses,  in  the  filmy  vision  of 
the  Nebo-prospect  of  the  promised  land,  or  in  the 
wild  deserts  where  unknown  streams  rippled  sweetly, 
amid  the  uprising  verdure  of  expanding  plains.  Says 
the  prophet,  "  In  that  day  there  shall  be  a  foun- 
tain opened  in  the  house  of  David,  and  to  the  in- 
habitants of  Jerusalem,  for  sin  and  for  uncleanness." 
It  was  this  great  fact,  that  man  is  a  sinner,  which 
lies  at  the  source  of  all  the  great  remedial  efforts  of 
the  Gospel,  and  which  gives  such  practical  value  to 
the  death  of  Christ.  The  "Fountain  in  Siloam  " 
did  not  possess  any  vital  interest  but  to  the  impotent 
and  diseased ;  and  it  was  the  great  truth,  that  it  had 
healed  diseases,  which  induced  the  "poor  man"  to 
be  thirty-eight  years  in  the  porch  of  the  pool  of 
Bethesda.  The  same  truths  give  equal  efficacy  and 
power  to  the  cross,  and  constrains  each  true  penitent 
and  believer  gratefully  to  exclaim — 


210  IMMOKTaL  FOUKTAlJf. 

"  E'er  eince,  by  faith.  1  saw  the'  Blream 

Thy  flowing  wounds  supply, 
Redeeming  love  has  been  my  theme, 

And  shall  be  till  I  die," 

With  these  views  all  the  great  types  and  symhols 
of  the  law  have  peculiar  significaney  and  meaning, 
from  the  great  annual  sacrifice,  whose  blood  sprinMed 
the  garments  of  the  High  Priest,  to  the  meek,  votive 
offering  of«turtle  doves  or  two  young  pigeons.  In 
contemplating  the  whole  wonderful  system  of  the 
Jews,  we  discover  the  great  intention  of  Christ's 
sacrifice  interwoven,  not  only  into  the  verbal  proph- 
ecies and  extraordinary  events  of  their  history,  but 
into  the  ordinary  transactions  of  the  lives  of  selected 
individuals;  and  hence  Adam  was  "the  figure  of  him 
that  was  to  come,"  (Rom.  v:  14:)  and  Melchisedek 
was  "made  like  unto  the  Son  of  God.  (Heb.  vii;  3.) 

Some  of  these  types  afford  intrinsic  evidence 
that  the  Scriptures  which  record  them  are  given  by 
inspiration  of  God ;  the  others  can  be  proved  to 
exist  only  by  assuming  that  fact;  but  all,  when  once 
established,  display  the  astonishing  power  and 
wisdom  of  God,  and  the  importance  of  that  scheme 
of  redemption  which  was  ushered  into  the  world  with 
such  magnificent  preparations.  The  great  fact  of 
Christ's  vicarious  offering,  is  the  doctrinal  test  of  a 
rising  or  falling  Church.     For,  if  we  preach  that  he 


IMMORTAL  FOUNTAIN-.  211 

(lid  not  (lie,  and  is  risen  ngain,  our  "faith  is  vain 
anil  we  arc  yet  in  our  sins."  In  view  of  this  fact, 
it  may  be  truly  said  to  every  one,  and  to  the  whole 
host  of  the  Christian  Israel  collectively — 

"Ilore  streams  of  sacrel  pleasure  rise, 

To  case  our  every  pain  : 
Immortal  Fountain,  full  supplie?, 

Nor  shall  vve  thirst  in  vaid." 

The  great  truths  of  redemption  take  strong  hold' 
of  the  affections  and  the  imagination,  and  taking  in- 
to account  our  somewhat  obscured  perceptions  of 
moral  purity  and  beauty,  rests  upon  the  soul  as  a 
"refiner  and  purifier  of  silver."  In  full  view  of  Cal- 
vary, the  world's  fine  golden  pleasures  become  val- 
ueless, impalpable  dross ;  whilst  the  redeemed  Spirit 
rises  up  from  the  realization  of  its  blessings,  count- 
ing all  things  but  loss  for  the  "excellency  of  the 
knowledge  of  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord." 

This  last  sketch  forms,  with  the  description  of  the 
"River  of  Life,"  the  second  special  illustration  of 
the  blessings  of  salvation,  and  is  an  humble  attempt 
to  make  vitally  real  the  great  doctrines  of  the  cross. 
We  close  our  sketches,  ardently  hoping  that  these 
"Fountains"  may  one  day  ripple  freshly  up  before  us, . 
on  the  plains  of  the  brighter  and  heavenly  Canaan. 


BS630  .W74 

Sacred  foundations,  or,  Observations 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  Library 


1    1012  00046  1261 


